Acres  of 
140 
Long  'Beach 


THE  WIDOW  WY3E. 


THE  WIDOW  WYSE 


Nobel 


"  Oh,  what  a  goodly  outside  falsehood  hath !  " 

—  Merchant  of  Ve 


BOSTON 

CUPPLES,  UPHAM  AND   COMPANY 
Sfje  ©IB  Corner  33ooftstore 

283  WASHINGTON  STREET 
1885 


Copyright,  1884, 
By  CUPPLES,  UPHAM  &  Co. 


Electrotyped  and  Printed  by 
Stanley  &>  Usher,  i-ji  Devonshire  Street,  Boston,  Mass. 


CONTENTS. 


Chapter  Page 

i.  MOBILE i 

n.  AT  MADAM  LEONARD'S n 

in.  SCHOOL  LIFE  CONTINUED 36 

iv.  THE  SOPHOMORES 52 

v.  AT  THE  BREWSTERS' 60 

vi.  THE  WIDOW  WYSE 87 

vii.  GAYETIES 106 

vin.  AT  MADAM  LEONARD'S no 

ix.  COUNTRY  GAYETIES 119 

x.  RICHARD  APTHORPE 129 

xi.  HOLIDAY  PLEASURES 147 

xii.  MAJOR  APTHORPE .  161 

xin.  ALLIANCE 175 

xiv.  PLANS  AND  PROJECTS 188 

xv.  AT  NEWPORT 215 

xvi.  BACK  TO  MADAM  LEONARD'S 222 

xvii.  FAREWELL  TO  MADAM  LEONARD'S    .     .     .  238 

xvin.  TRYING  TO  FORGET 245 

xix.  MAJOR  APTHORPE'S  QUEST 252 

xx.  FOILED                                                           ,  255 


2061857 


THE    WIDOW    WYSE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

MOBILE. 

A  TUMBLE,  a  roll,  a  bump,  and  a  prolonged 
howl  broke  upon  Miss  Ethel  Townsend's  ear, 
one  bright  morning  in  September,  as  she  was 
stepping  from  a  long  French-window  to  the 
veranda. 

"  Mercy  on  us  ! "  she  exclaimed,  recognizing 
the  voice  and  looking  around. 

"  What 's  the  matter,  now,  Dumps  ?  How 
came  you  there  ?  " 

"Oh  !  Miss  Teddy,"  cried  poor  Dumps  at  the 
foot  of  the  stairs,  "  I  'ze  dead,  I  'ze  dead,  sure  ; 
specs  I  'ze  jes  done  gone  an'  killed  myse'f." 

A  stout,  comfortable-looking  colored  woman 
made  her  appearance  at  this  moment,  who 
called  out:  — 


2  THE   WIDOW   WTSE. 

"  Hyar,  you,  Dumps !  go  straight  to  de 
kitchen,  an'  doan  go  for  to  bodder  Miss  Teddy 
wid  yer  foolin's." 

"You  mustn't  scold  the  poor  child,  Dido," 
said  Ethel.  "  Don't  you  see  she  has  hurt 
herself?" 

"  She  on'y  wants  a  scuse  for  cryin',  Miss 
Teddy,"  said  Dido,  coolly. 

"Didn't  go  fur  to  do  it,  Miss  Teddy,"  said 
Dumps.  "'Clar'  to  goodness  I  didn't;  jes 
stepped  on  de  fust  stair,  an'  down  I  come 
ker-blim.  Oh !  my  pore  ole  bones." 

Dumps  was  one  of  those  children,  who  really 
delight  in  being  unhappy,  and  was  the  butt 
of  ridicule  for  the  whole  kitchen,  and  when  she 
limped  in  with  a  doleful  groan,  saying,  in  imita- 
tion of  her  elders,  "  Oh !  my  pore  ole  bones," 
there  was  a  shout  of  derisive  laughter.  It 
ceased,  however,  a  moment  after  when  Dido 
marched  in  with  all  the  importance  her  position 
in  the  household  gave  her,  saying,  severely :  — 

"Specs  yer'd  laugh  if  de  pore  chile  done 
broke  her  neck,"  and,  with  characteristic  incon- 
sistency, took  Dumps  in  her  arms  and  began 
rocking  back  and  forth  with  the  most  tender 


MOBILE.  3 

expressions    of    compassion.     Instantly    there 
was  a  chorus  of  sympathetic  voices. 

"  Whar  's  de  camfire  ?  Bring  de  arniky.  De 
pore  chile  done  hurt  herse'f." 

"  Doan  cry  yer  pore  eyes  out,  honey,"  said 
Dido.  "  Kase  yer 's  gwine  Norf  wid  Miss 
Teddy,  nex'  week." 

"  I  is  ?  "  said  Dumps,  starting  up  and  rolling 
up  the  whites  of  her  eyes  in  ecstasy,  and  for- 
getting to  groan.  "  I  is  truly  gwine  Norf  wid 
Miss  Teddy?  Bress  my  stars  !  " 

It  was  an  ideal  Southern  home,  whose  young 
mistress  was  fairly  worshiped  by  her  devoted 
servants.  Ethel  Townsend  had  beauty  of  a ' 
very  striking  order.  She  had  inherited  her 
mother's  lovely  golden-brown  hair  and  all  the 
grace  for  which  that  parent  was  famous.  There 
was,  however,  no  trace  of  the  depressing 
languor  which  grew  upon  the  mother  until  she 
lost  her  hold  upon  life  altogether.  Her  father 
was  a  Northerner  by  birth,  and  from  him  came 
her  glorious,  dark  eyes,  her  strong,  good  sense, 
and  her  abundant  health.  She  was  everything 
to  him,  as  he  was  everything  to  her.  He  told 
her  all  his  plans  and  projects,  and  she  went 


4  THE   WIDOW    WTSE. 

to  him  with  all  her  childish  joys  and  sorrows. 
Neither  of  them  ever  thought  of  troubling 
the  beautiful,  frail  mother.  The  father  and 
daughter  were  constantly  together.  He  took 
her  with  him  on  journeys  by  land  and  by  sea. 
She  tramped  with  him  through  marsh  and 
wood  after  game,  and  was  considered  as  good 
a  shot  as  any  young  man  in  the  country.  She 
had  an  accomplished  governess,  and  her  father 
interested  himself  personally  in  her  studies. 
But  her  lessons  were  constantly  interrupted, 
and  Dr.  Townsend  had  felt  for  some  time  that 
his  daughter  needed  the  regular  discipline  of 
a  boarding-school.  Ethel  was  nearly  seventeen 
when  her  mother  died,  and  for  months  after- 
ward the  father  and  daughter  wandered  rest- 
lessly from  place  to  place,  when  Dr.  Townsend 
suddenly  made  up  his  mind  that  Ethel  must 
go  to  school,  and  as  he  felt  that  he  could  not 
stay  in  Mobile  without  her,  he  decided  to  go 
abroad,  and  on  the  evening  before  our  story 
opens  he  had  returned  from  the  North,  where 
he  had  been  to  make  arrangements  for  Ethel's 
comfort  while  finishing  her  studies.  Acting 
upon  the  advice  of  a  friend,  he  visited  "  Madam 


MOBILE.  5 

Leonard's,"  the  most  refined  and  the  most 
exclusive  institution  in  the  country.  He  found 
madam  a  tall,  graceful  lady,  with  a  pale,  clear- 
cut  face,  and  engaging  manners.  She  had 
occupied  her  present  quarters  for  a  year  only. 
The  house  was  large,  and  the  grounds  ample, 
with  a  background  of  pleasant  woods  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  away.  High  walls  shut  out  the 
curious  gaze  of  passers-by,  but  there  was 
nothing  to  indicate  its  purpose  to  outsiders. 
It  was  the  property  of  a  gentleman  then  travel- 
ing in  Europe,  and  had  been  occupied  by  him 
as  a  residence  until  leased  to  Madam  Leonard. 
"  I  am  glad  you  came  this  morning,"  she 
said  in  her  low,  suave  voice  to  Dr.  Townsend, 
"  for  I  do  not  allow  myself  to  take  more  than 
eight  young  ladies,  and  I  have  seven  already 
engaged.  I  take  personal  interest  in  each  one, 
and  consider  them  my  guests,  rather  than  my 
pupils.  I  have  but  few  rules,  and  I  make  their 
duties  .as  little  irksome  as  possible.  You  may 
think  my  prices  exorbitant,  but  when  I  tell  you 
that  I  have  resisted  all  inducements  to  take 
what  are  termed  day-pupils,  you  will,  I  think, 
be  quite  satisfied.  You  see,"  she  went  on,  with 


6  THE   WIDOW   WTSE. 

a  smile  of  satisfaction,  "that  I  have  no  outside 
influences  to  contend  against ;  I  watch  over 
the  young  ladies  as  though  they  were  my 
own  daughters,  and  I  consider  this  to  be  an 
absolutely  safe  place  for  any  young  girl." 

"  It  is  this  very  exclusiveness  which  pleases 
me,"  said  Dr.  Townsend.  "  I  am  sure  Ethel 
ought  to  be  happy  here,  but  I  beg  you^will 
remember  that,  owing  to  her  mother's  weak 
state  for  a  long  time  before  her  death,  she  has 
been  under  very  little  restraint.  Indeed,  I  am 
afraid  she  is  a  little  spoiled.  Your  manner 
of  living  will,  doubtless,  be  quite  different  to 
what  she  has  been  accustomed,  and  she  will 
miss  her  home  sorely" — his  voice  breaking 
a  little.  "  Dear  Madam  Leonard,  she  is  all  I 
have ;  pray  be  patient  with  her,  for  I  could  not 
bear  to  think  of  my  little  girl  as  lonely  or 
unhappy " — 

"  I  quite  understand,"  said  Madam  Leonard, 
in  a  sympathizing  voice,  "and  I  am  sure  you 
may  trust  me  to  make  her  sojourn  with  me 
both  pleasant  and  profitable." 

Then  like  the  careful,  loving  father  that  he 
was,  Dr.  Townsend  went  into,  and  settled  small 


MOBILE.  7 

details  for  his  daughter's  comfort.  He  asked 
many  indulgences  for  her  that  Madam  Leonard 
was  loth  to  grant,  but  a  persuasive  voice  which 
offered  such  generous  pecuniary  considerations 
could  hardly  be  resisted  by  the  impecunious 
widow,  and  Dr.  Townsend  went  back  to  his 
Southern  home  well  pleased  with  his  daughter's 
prospects. 

"  I  think  you  will  like  Madam  Leonard,  my 
dear,"  said  he ;  "  she  is  very  pleasing  in  her 
manner,  cordial,  yet  as  dignified  as  a  lady  in 
her  position  should  be.  She  has  always  moved 
in  the  best  society,  my  friend  Kennard  tells 
me,  but  owing  to  reverses,  followed  by  her 
husband's  death,  she  has  been  compelled  to  do 
something  for  her  own  support.  I  should  wish 
you  to  remember  this,  dear,  for  her  position, 
at  best,  must  be  a  trying  one." 

"  I  shall  always  try  and  do  as  you  would  wish 
to  have  me,"  answered  Ethel.  "  I  know  that 
I  disappointed  you  grievously,  once  upon  a 
time." 

"  Yes,"  answered  her  father,  laughing,  "  I  am 
not  likely  to  forget  that.  It  was  a  clear  case 
of  obstinacy  on  your  part,  too.  You  should 


8  THE   WIDOW    WTSE, 

have  fulfilled  my  expectations,  and  proved 
yourself  a  boy.  However,  I  have  my  revenge 
in  calling  you  by  the  name  you  ought  to 
bear.  You  will  never  be  anything  but  Teddy 
to  me." 

"I  remember,"  answered  Ethel,  "that  you 
taught  me,  when  I  was  a  very  little  girl,  to  say, 
when  asked  my  name,  '  Dr.  Edward  Townsend, 
junior.'  " 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  and  you  would  have  been, 
baptized  by  that  name,  but  for  ma's  prejudices." 

Then  suddenly  growing  grave,  he  said  :  "  All 
this  is  nonsense,  my  darling,  and  I  want  you 
always  to  remember  that  I  am  more  than  sat- 
isfied as  it  is ;  I  would  not  have  it  otherwise, 
if  I  could." 

Ethel  patted  his  hand  affectionately,  saying, 
"Oh  !  how  I  wish  I  could  go  with  you !  " 

"  I  wish  so,  too,"  he  answered,  "with  all  my 
heart  ;  but  it  would  not  be  wise.  Your  educa- 
tion is  by  no  means  finished,  and  you  could 
hardly  go  to  school  after  a  year  or  two  of 
travel.  Remain  with  Madam  Leonard  two 
years,  and  after  that  time  you  shall  go  where 
you  will.  I  have  made  every  arrangement 


MOBILE.  9 

possible  for  your  comfort.  Dido  will  be  near 
you  to  do  everything  in  the  way  of  washing  and 
mending.  She  will  have  a  little  white  cottage 
that  will  delight  her  heart.  I  had  a  little  diffi- 
culty in  accomplishing  this,  for  madam's  rules 
are  very  strict  with  regard  to  outsiders,  but 
she  yielded  finally.  You  must  see  her  often, 
so  she  won't  grow  homesick,  and,  I  am  sure," 
he  went  on,  with  a  smile  of  intense  amusement, 
"  that  Dumps  will  cheer  you  up  when  you  feel 
lonesome.  Write  me  as  freely  as  you  talk 
to  me,  my  dear,  and  if  I  have  left  anything 
undone,  let  me  know  it  at  once.  I  saw  Jack 
Fenton  in  New  York.  He  goes  back  to  the 
university  soon,  and  will  be  quite  near  you. 
Indeed,  I  think  you  may  be  able  to  see  the 
tops  of  the  buildings  from  your  chamber  win- 
dows. At  any  rate,  they  are  not  far  away." 

"It  will  seem  like  a  bit  of  home  to  see  Jack," 
answered  Ethel,  "  and  I  cannot  be  too  thankful 
for  Dido  and  poor  Dumps.  How  thoughtful 
you  are  for  me  !  " 

"That  is  what  I  am  living  for,"  said  her 
father.  "  It  is  my  greatest  pleasure  to  make 
you  happy.  You  will  feel  the  necessary 


IO  THE   WIDOW   WTSE. 

restraint  at  first,  of  course,  but  I  hope  it  will 
not  prove  very  irksome  to  you." 

"  Oh  !  I  shall  not  mind  it  at  all,"  said  Ethel. 
"I  mean  to  study  faithfully,  and  I  shall  not 
have  time  to  be  unhappy." 

The  next  week  was  a  busy  one  for  Ethel. 
Old  friends  —  of  whom  she  had  many  —  must 
be  visited  and  taken  leave  of,  and  arrangements 
made  for  the  poor  people  whom  she  had  relieved 
and  comforted  for  so  many  years.  There  was 
weeping  and  wailing  among  the  faithful  col- 
ored people  about  her,  in  view  of  her  departure. 
Dido,  alone,  was  proud  and  happy,  and  poor 
Dumps  was  almost  cheerful. 


CHAPTER   II. 

AT    MADAM    LEONARD'S. 

"  DEAREST  PAPA,  —  You  will  doubtless  be 
surprised  at  this  added  syllable,  but  you  must 
know  that  your  daughter  has  been  laughed  at. 
Yes,  actually  laughed  at,  on  account  of  her 
paws.  I  did  not  know  what  it  all  meant,  until 
Kitty  Brewster,  my  roommate,  a  kind-hearted 
Boston  girl,  explained  it  to  me.  So  it  seems 
that  I  have  to  choose  between  '  par '  and  papa. 
The  former  being  detestable,  I  choose  the 
latter.  Never  expect  to  hear  me  say  '  paw ' 
again. 

"  I  am  sure,  dear  papa,  that  you  will  want  to 
know,  first  of  all,  my  impressions  concerning 
Madam  Leonard's.  You  know  its  pleasant 
surroundings,  and  have  seen  its  mistress ;  but 
you  must  pardon  me  if  I  say  that  I  do  not 
think  that  a  man's  perceptions  are  quite  as 
quick  as  a  woman's  —  at  least  where  women 
are  concerned. 

"  Now,  you  are  laughing  at  me,  and  I  hear  you 


12  THE   WIDOW   WTSE. 

say  :  '  She  does  not  like  her '  ;  but  no  matter. 
I  shall  say  nothing  of  Madam  Leonard  at 
present,  having  seen  but  little  of  her. 

"Miss  Carpenter  seems  to  manage  everything, 
and  she  seems  happy  only  when  she  can  thwart 
some  pet  plan  of  the  young  ladies ;  so,  of 
course,  they  all  hate  her.  Miss  Eliza,  her 
sister,  a  little,  meek,  old,  young  woman,  is 
her  .echo.  I  think  she  would  be  kind  to  us 
if  she  dared.  She  does  not  look  as  though 
she  ever  thoroughly  enjoyed  anything  in  the 
whole  course  of  her  life.  Our  German  pro- 
fessor is  a  poor  man,  with  a  large  family.  He 
looks  as  though  it  was  a  struggle  to  maintain 
them ;  but  he  is  considered  a  good  teacher. 
You  will  feel  gratified  to  know  that  he  compli- 
ments your  daughter  on  her  proficiency  in  his 
native  tongue.  He  teaches  other  branches, 
also.  I  have  just  begun  Italian,  which  I  like 
very  much.  Miss  Carpenter  has  the  French 
classes  ;  but  Madam  Leonard  is  looking  for 
a  native  teacher.  I  hope  she  will  soon  find 
one,  for,  although,  as  you  know,  I  have  no  need 
to  study  that  language,  I  do  want  the  girls  to 
have  a  better  teacher. 


AT  MADAM  LEONARD'S.  13 

"Kitty  Brewster,  as  I  told  you,  is  from  Bos- 
ton. She  does  not  wear  spectacles,  but  she  is 
just  as  '  nice '  as  she  can  be.  Very  pretty,  too, 
although  she  does  not  think  so.  She  calls  her 
face  common,  because  she  is  neither  a  decided 
blonde,  nor  yet  a  brunette,  and  can  wear  one 
color  as  well  as  another.  The  Brewsters  live 
in  fine  style  in  Boston,  and  are  very  wealthy, 
Lizzie  Highgate  says,  and  one  can  see  that  they 
must  be  cultivated,  as  well ;  though  Lizzie  says 
nothing  about  that,  as  she  worships  wealth  and 
cares  very  little  for  culture.  Thanks  to  you, 
we  have  two  bedrooms  and  a  private  parlor,  so 
we  are  what  Lizzie  Highgate  calls  '  quite  swell.' 
I  wonder  what  Madam  Leonard  would  say  if 
she  could  hear  this  young  lady's  slang  ?  Yet 
she  is  clearly  madam's  favorite.  She  is  a  little, 
black-tressed  creature,  with  large,  dark  eyes  and 
pale  face.  We  call  her  'The  Little  Gypsy,'  and 
she  makes  the  most  of  her  dark  beauty  by 
dressing  in  the  most  dashing  style.  She  is  as 
fond  of  colors  as  Dido,  only  I  should  not  dare 
to  say  so  in  her  hearing,  for  she  has  a  temper 
that  is  far  from  angelic,  and  displays  it  upon 
the  slightest  provocation.  She  lives  in  a  little 
town  farther  North. 


14  THE   WIDOW   WYSE. 

"Edith  Preble  is  from  Portland,  Maine.  A 
tall,  stately  girl,  with  a  fine,  proud  face.  I  like 
her,  but  she  is  not  a  favorite,  being  rather 
reserved,  and  very  unyielding  where  right  and 
wrong  are  concerned,  and  she  never  needs  to 
be  reproved.  The  girls  say  that  she  was  never 
known  to  miss  a  lesson,  and  is  always  provok- 
ingly  correct  in  her  deportment.  ('A  fine 
example  for  you,  my  dear,'  I  hear  you  say.) 
Lizzie  Highgate  says  that  her  father  is  poor, 
and  that  she  has  been  foolish  enough  to  engage 
herself  to  a  young  lawyer,  of  her  own  city,  as 
poor  as  herself.  I  suggested  to  Miss  Highgate 
that  possibly  they  were  going  to  marry  for 
love,  and  she  answered  :  '  Nonsense  ! '  The 
other  girls  are  younger,  and  do  not  particu- 
larly interest  me. 

"Now,  papa,  dear,  you  are  to  keep  these  young 
ladies  in  your  mind,  for  I  shall  have  nothing 
else  to  write  about,  and  you  promised  to  be 
interested  in  whatever  concerns  me.  I  got 
your  note  from  New  York,  and  am  anxiously 
awaiting  a  letter  from  across  the  ocean.  I  have 
cried  but  once  since  you  left  me.  It  was  last 
evening,  when  Dido  said :  '  Say  howdy  to  yer 


AT  MADAM  LEONARD'S.  15 

paw,  honey,  and  tell  him  we's  satisfied.'  Miss 
Carpenter  would  like  to  keep  me  from  going 
there,  but  she  cannot.  I  think  I  know  your 
daughter  well  enough  to  promise  that.  But 
Kitty  is  getting  impatient  (you  are  to  love 
Kitty),  and,  I  am  sure,  she  cannot  keep 
her  tongue  quiet  much  longer,  so  I  will  say 
good-by.  From  your  loving 

"TEDDY." 

"  My  dear  Ethel,  I  am  thankful  that  you 
have  at  last  finished  that  interminable  letter," 
remarked  the  aforesaid  Kitty.  "  What  can  you 
possibly  find  to  write  about  ?  Letter-writing 
is  my  pet  aversion.  I  have  been  dying  to  talk 
to  you  for  the  last  half-hour." 

"Well,  my  friend,  don't  lose  time,  now  you 
have  the  opportunity,"  said  Ethel.  "  Talk 
away;  but  first  tell  me  what  you  do  with 
yourselves  on  Saturdays." 

"  Oh  !  we  do  our  mending,  —  I  mean  those  of 
us  who  are  obliged  to  (you  should  thank  your 
stars  that  you  are  not),  —  and  write  letters, 
as  you  have  been  doing,  until  it  is  time  to  go 
for  our  walk." 


1 6  THE   WIDOW   WYSE. 

"Do  you  have  any  particular  time  for  walk- 
ing ? "  asked  Ethel,  eagerly  ;  "  if  not,  let  us  go 
now.  I  am  longing  for  the  woods.  It  must  be 
lovely  there." 

"  You  poor,  little  innocent,"  said  Kitty,  in  a 
pitying  tone.  "  Do  you  imagine  for  a  moment 
that  our  ancient  grimalkin  will  permit  us  to  go 
when  and  where  we  please,  and  without  her 
detested  presence?"  • 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  Miss  Carpenter 
will  accompany  us  ?  "  said  Ethel. 

"  Not  only  Miss  Carpenter,  but  Miss  Eliza 
also,"  answered  Kitty,  enjoying  Ethel's  ludi- 
crous look  of  disgust. 

"In  the  first  place,"  Kitty  went  on,  "we  set 
out  in  pairs,  like  convicts,  with  a  keeper  at  the 
head  —  that 's  Miss  Eliza,  and  another  at 
the  foot  to  take  us  all  in — that's  Miss 
Carpenter"  — 

"  But  what  is  it  all  for  ? "  interrupted  Ethel. 

"To  see  that  we  keep  step,"  said  Kitty, 
coolly,  "and  that  we  do  not  raise  our  voices 
above  the  conventional  society  standard,  and 
that  we  do  not  laugh.  We  can  smile  occa- 
sionally, but  not  too  often,  and,  above  all 
things,  to  protect  us  should  we  meet  a  man." 


AT  MADAM  LEONARD'S.  17 

"  Meet  a  man  ? "  repeated  Ethel,  in  a  bewil- 
dered tone. 

"Yes,  my  lambkin,  'meet  a  man.'  In  case 
we  do',  you  must  immediately  drop  your  eyes  to 
the  ground.  You  must,  on  no  account,  lift 
so  much  as  an  eye-winker." 

"  How  perfectly  absurd  you  are  this  morn- 
ing, Kitty !  Do  be  seasible,  if  you  can,  and 
tell  me  if  we  have  to  submit  to  strict  disci- 
pline on  holidays,"  said  Ethel. 

"  I  have  told  you  the  solemn  truth,"  answered 
Kitty,  "  and  if  you  do  not  believe  me,  wait  and 
see." 

"  It  is  too  ridiculous  to  believe,"  said  Ethel. 

Just  then  a  bell  rang. 

"  That  means  that  we  are  to  prepare  for  our 
walk,"  said  Kitty,  rising. 

"  I  would  rather  not  go,"  said  Ethel,  decid- 
edly. 

"Oh!  but  you  must,"  answered  Kitty. 
"  They  won't  let  you  off.  Come,  get  your  hat. 
It  won't  be  so  very  disagreeable,  after  all.  We 
will  walk  together,  and  talk  so  that  the  rest 
won't  hear." 

They  set   out   ten    minutes  later,   and  had 


1 8  THE    WIDOW   WTSE. 

nearly  reached  the  woods,  where  they  would  be 
allowed  to  separate  a  little,  when  Ethel  noticed 
a  dogcart,  in  which  were  seated  two  young 
men,  coming  rapidly  toward  them. 

"Drop  your  eyes,  dear,"  said  Kitty,  mischiev- 
ously, as  they  were  passing. 

"  One  of  them  was  Lizzie  Highgate's  brother, 
but  she  could  n't  speak  to  him." 

"  And  the  other,"  said  Ethel,  eagerly,  "  was 
Jack  Fenton,  an  old  friend  of  mine,  whom  you 
must  know." 

"Hush!"  said  Kitty,  warningly,  "the  old  cat 
will  hear." 

Just  then,  they  reached  the  woods,  and  Miss 
Carpenter  gathered  the  young  ladies  about  her, 
and  said,  in  measured  tones  :  — 

"  I  noticed  that  one  of  the  young  ladies  held 
a  handkerchief  in  her  hand,  while  those  young 
men  were  passing.  She  should  have  known 
better."  Miss  Eliza  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  as 
Miss  Carpenter  went  on. 

"  I  will  not  accuse  her  of  doing  so  indelicate 
a  thing  as  waving  that  —  that  —  suggestive 
article;  but  I  noticed  that  the  young  men 
were  encouraged  to  bow  in  the  most  impress- 
ive manner." 


AT  MADAM  LEONARD'S.  19 

Miss  Eliza  almost  groaned. 

"  It  must  have  been  out  of  respect  for  you, 
Miss  Carpenter,"  said  Lizzie  Highgate,  quickly, 
the  owner  of  the  above-mentioned  handkerchief. 

Miss  Carpenter  coughed  dryly,  and  said  :  — 

"  We  will  give  the  young  lady  the  benefit  of 
the  doubt ;  but  I  would  suggest  that  hereafter 
no  young  lady  permit  herself  to  be  seen,  while 
walking,  with  a  handkerchief  in  her  hand, 
excepting  under  the  most  pressing  circum- 
stances." 

There  were  signs  of  a  struggle  between 
amusement  and  indignation  in  Ethel  Town- 
send's  face ;  but  she  made  no  remark ;  and 
they  were  soon  gathering  handfuls  of  brilliant 
autumn  leaves,  wherewith  to  decorate  their 
rooms  for  the  coming  winter.  It  was  a  glorious 
October  morning,  and  the  girls  soon  forgot 
their  annoyances,  and  chatted  gayly  with  each 
other,  thoroughly  enjoying  the  clear  air  and 
bright  sunshine,  and  they  went  back  refreshed 
in  body  and  mind. 

"  It  was  n't  so  bad,  after  all  ? "  queried 
Kitty. 

"It  was  perfectly  delightful — after  we   got 


2O  THE    WIDOW    WTSE. 

there,"  said  Ethel.  "And  won't  these  leaves 
brighten  up  our  rooms  ?  I  '11  have  Dido  press 
them  to-night." 

"  Oh  !  most  fortunate  girl,  to  possess  a 
Dido,"  answered  Kitty,  with  a  sigh. 

"Oh!  I  couldn't  live  without  Dido,"  said 
Ethel,  decidedly.  "  You  cannot  think  what 
a  helpless,  useless  creature  I  have  always 
been,  with  half  a  dozen  servants  to  wait  espe- 
cially on  me.  Why,  I  never  did  a  thing  for 
myself  in  my  life,  until  I  came  here.  I  shall 
never  forget,  you  dear  child,  how  patiently  you 
have  taught  me,  morning  after  morning,  to 
dress  my  hair.  I  really  think  I  am  getting  to 
be  quite  '  dexterious,'  as  Dido  would  say." 

"  Your  hair  is  perfectly  lovely,  and  you  do  it 
beautifully,"  said  Kitty,  enthusiastically. 

"  I  will  have  Dido  press  all  the  leaves,  if  you 
think  the  girls  would  like  it,"  said  Ethel. 

"  '  Like  it ! '"  repeated  Kitty  ;  "  they  would 
go  clown  on  their  knees  to  you,  every  one  of 
them." 

Later  in  the  afternoon,  as  Ethel  was  prepar- 
ing to  visit  Dido,  she  met  Madam  Leonard, 
and,  as  she  greeted  her  in  her  pleasant  way, 
Ethel  said:  — 


AT  MADAM  LEONARD'S.  21 

"  I  suppose  I  may  go  over  to  the  cottage  for 
a  little  while,  madam  ?  " 

"  My  dear  child,"  answered  madam,  in  her  soft 
voice,  "  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you  about  those 
colored  people.  I  don't  like  to  deny  you  any- 
thing ;  but  I  hope  you  will  not  ask  to  go  there 
quite  as  often  as  you  have  done ;  they  are 
hardly  fit  associates  for  you." 

Ethel  looked  at  her  in  amazement,  as  she 
answered :  — 

"  I  thought  I  was  to  go  there  when  I  pleased. 
I  am  sure  papa  understood  it  so.  He  partic- 
ularly told  me  not  to  let  Dido  get  homesick." 

"  Yes,  dear,"  answered  madam,  patting 
Ethel  softly  on  the  shoulder.  "I  am 
willing  that  you  should  go  there,  only  not 
quite  so  often.  You  were  there  last  even- 
ing, and  the  child  will  be  here  to-night  for 
your  linen." 

"  Oh  !  yes,"  said  Ethel,  impatiently,  "  but 
Dumps  doesn't  signify.  I  want  to  see  Dido 
about  pressing  my  leaves  ;  besides,  I  promised 
to  write  a  letter  for  her.  I  did  n't  have  time 
last  night." 

"'Dumps,'"     repeated     Madam     Leonard, 


22  THE   WIDOW  WTSE. 

"  what  a  strange  name !  Has  the  child  no 
other  ? " 

"  Oh  !  yes,  I  suppose  so,"  said  Ethel,  care- 
lessly ;  "  I  will  inquire  if  you  like." 

"And  she  has  always  lived  in  your  family?" 
said  madam,  significantly.  "  Do  you  not  think 
that  she  should  be  taught  that  she  is  a  respon- 
sible human  being?  Did  you  never  try  to 
teach  the  poor  thing  ? " 

"  Oh !  yes,"  answered  Ethel,  "  I  tried  all 
last  winter  to  teach  her  to  say:  'Sin  is  an 
abomination  unto  the  Lord ' ;  and  in  the 
spring,  as  she  had  only  got  to  '  Sin  is  a  bodder- 
ation,'  I  gave  it  up.  But  she  goes  to  school 
now,  and  she  hr.s  really  learned  a  good  deal. 
The  last  time  I  was  there,  she  exclaimed, 
eagerly,  as  soon  as  she  saw  me  :  — 

" '  Oh !    Miss  Teddy,   I  can  spell  spoon.' 

" '  Well,  Dumps,  spell  spoon,'  said   I. 

"  She  took  a  spoon  from  the  table  and  spelled, 
'J.  C-a-r-t-e-r,  spoon.'  I  was  really  proud  of 
her.  I  was,  indeed." 

Madam  coughed,  gently,  as  she  said :  "  Well, 
dear,  you  may  go  for  an  hour.  Pray,  be  back 
punctually." 


A  T  MADAM  LEONARD'S.  2 3 

She  was  always  gentle  and  gracious  to  the 
young  ladies,  leaving  all  the  disagreeables  to 
Miss  Carpenter. 

On  Sunday  mornings  they  went  to  church. 
The  dear,  old  rector  was  one  of  Madam  Leon- 
ard's friends,  and,  as  he  was  not  considered 
dangerous,  being  over  seventy,  was  a  welcome 
visitor  at  all  times. 

The  young  ladies  were  very  fond  of  him,  for, 
though  a  little  prosy  in  his  sermons,  he  was 
a  delightful  companion  and  a  wise  counsellor. 
In  the  afternoon  came  Bible-lessons  at  home, 
and  in  the  evening  the  girls  wrote  letters. 

One  morning  Lizzie  Highgate  came  rushing 
into  the  young  ladies'  parlor,  with  scarcely  an 
apology  for  a  knock,  saying  to  Kitty,  who  was 
the  only  visible  occupant  of  the  room  :  — 

"  Do  we  have  extra  pages  of  Roman  history 
to-day  ?  It  would  be  just  like  Miss  Carpenter 
to  give  us  a  page  or  two  in  addition  because 
it  was  so  hard  we  could  n't  get  it  yesterday. 
I  asked  Ethel  Townsend  at  breakfast,  and  she 
answered  :  '  Reckon.'  I  wonder  why  she  is 
always  '  reckoning.'  " 

"  For  the  same  reason,"  said  Ethel,  straight- 


24  THE    WIDOW  WYSE. 

ening  up  from  behind  a  large  easy-chair,  where 
she  had  been  sitting  on  a  low  stool,  "  that  you 
are  always  '  guessing.'  " 

Lizzie  reddened  deeply. 

"  How  strangely  our  peculiarities  strike  each 
other,"  she  went  on,  sweetly.  "Now,  for  a  long 
time  I  could  not  get  accustomed  to  this  con- 
stant guessing.  I  said  to  myself :  '  They  do 
not  seem  to  really  know  anything.'  Only 
this  morning  our  friend  here "  —  turning  to 
Kitty — "was  asked  if  she  would  have  more 
steak,  and  she  answered :  '  No,  I  guess  not.' 
And  I  thought :  '  How  strange  that  she  should 
n't  know  !  ' ' 

With  her  feathers  all  ruffled,  and  her  small 
nose  in  the  air,  Miss  Highgate  turned  to  go, 
saying,  primly :  — 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Townsend.  I  did 
not  know  you  were  there ;  "  and  Ethel  called 
after  her  :  — 

"  Perhaps  I  ought  to  beg  your  pardon, 
although  I  did  know  that  you  were  there. 
We  have  half  a  page  of  history  extra." 

"What  made  you  answer  her  so,  Ethel?" 
asked  Kitty. 


A  T  MADAM  LEONARD'S.  2  5 

"  Could  n't  help  it,  my  dear,"  answered  Ethel. 
"  I  never  like  to  lose  an  opportunity,  and  you 
must  admit  that  she  gave  me  provocation 
enough." 

"Yes,"  answered  Kitty,  "but  she  won't  get 
over  it  for  a  week,  and  I  particularly  wanted  to 
ask  a  favor  of  her." 

"Well,  why  not  ask  it?"  replied  Ethel. 
"  She  cannot  be  angry  with  you,  as  you  said 
nothing." 

"  Oh !  you  hardly  know  Miss  Highgate," 
answered  Kitty.  "  She  does  not  stop  to  dis- 
criminate when  she  is  in  her  tantrums.  It  is 
quite  enough  for  her  that  I  was  with  you  when 
this  happened." 

"  What  a  strange  girl  she  is !  "  said  Ethel. 
"  I  am  sure  I  am  glad  to  be  told  of  my  faults, 
and  if  Lizzie  had  spoken  to  me  instead  of  to 
you,  I  should  have  thanked  her.  I  acknowl- 
edge that  darkeyisms  are  bad  enough  ;  but  you 
must  pardon  me  if  I  say  that  Yankeeisms 
seem  infinitely  worse  to  me.  But  there  is 
one  thing  that  I  cannot  get  accustomed  to, 
and  that  is  Lizzie  Highgate's  slang  phrases. 
For  instance :  I  borrowed  a  pencil  of  her 


26  THE   WIDOW   WTSE. 

yesterday,  having  mislaid  my  own,  and,  after 
using  it,  I  handed  it  back,  saying,  '  Thank 
you,  very  much.'  Instead  of  taking  it,  she 
answered,  without  looking  up,  '  Oh !  shoot 
the  pencil ! '  The  window  being  open,  I  did 
as  she  requested.  I  '  shot  the  pencil '  out  of 
the  window,  and,  if  you  will  believe  me,  she 
was  angry." 

Kitty  laughed,  saying,  "  She  does  use  a 
dreadful  amount  of  slang ;  but  she  has  brothers, 
my  dear,  and  'brothers  are  awful,'  she  says; 
they  talk  nothing  but  slang.  She  will  go  to 
her  room  now,  and  tear  around  for  half  an 
hour  ;  after  that,  she  will  feel  better." 

"  I  do  hope,"  said  Ethel,  laughingly,  "  that 
she  won't  tear  her  clothes.  I  never  saw  any- 
body's raiment  so  pinned  together  in  my  life. 
She  must  use  all  her  pin-money  for  its  legiti- 
mate purpose.  I  don't  believe  she  ever  takes 
a  stitch." 

"  She  only  mends  what  will  be  likely  to  come 
under  Miss  Carpenter's  eye,"  said  Kitty. 
"  She  has  no  time.  She  takes  it  all  to  dress 
her  hair.  She  gets  up  at  six  o'clock  every 
morning  and  works  upon  it  until  breakfast- 


AT  MADAM  LEONARD'S.  27 

time.  Personal  adornment  is  Miss  Highgate's 
pet  weakness." 

"  I  knew  that  it  must  take  time  and  patience 
to  dress  hair  in  that  impossible  sort  of  style," 
said  Ethelv  "  I  have  often  wondered  at  the 
structure  ;  but  I  did  not  think  her  equal  to  the 
sacrifice  of  her  morning  nap  for  any  purpose 
whatsoever." 

"  She  is  as  vain  as  a  peacock,"  answered 
Kitty.  "  We  roomed  together  last  year,  and 
she  used  to  awaken  me  sometimes  by  slam- 
ming around  because  she  could  n't  get  her  jetty 
locks  to  suit  her;  and  one  morning  in  partic- 
ular, I  remember,  I  was  dreadfully  annoyed, 
and  said  :  '  Lizzie,  why  don't  you  swear  out- 
right and  be  done  with  it  ? ' 

"  '  What  do  you  mean  ? '  "  she  asked,  sharply, 
her  nose  in  the  air.  '  There  's  many  an  oath 
in  the  slam  of  a  door.'  I  quoted.  '  You  must 
have  slammed  several  into  your  bureau-drawers 
this  morning.  I  think  you  would  feel  a  greater 
relief  in  doing  as  I  suggested  ;  that  is  all.'  She 
did  n't  speak  to  me  for  a  week. 

"  It  is  fortunate  for  Lizzie,"  resumed  Kitty, 
after  a  pause,  "that  Madam  Leonard  does  not 


28  THE   WIDOW    WTSE. 

interfere  with  our  clothes.  Indeed,  I  think 
she  likes  to  have  us  dress.  It  was  not  allowed 
at  all  at  Miss  Moran's,  where  I  was  sent  sev- 
eral years  ago." 

"  Did  you  all  dress  alike  ? "  asked  Ethel, 
with  a  look  of  horror.  "  I  thought  such 
things  were  practised  only  in  charity-schools." 

"  Not  precisely  alike,"  answered  Kitty ; 
"  but  our  dresses  were  perfectly  plain  ;  an  over- 
skirt  was  considered  arc  abomination.  We 
were  obliged  to  brush  back  our  hair,  and  do  it 
in  the  simplest  manner  possible ;  and  not 
a  particle  of  jewelry  was  allowed,  not  even  a 
plain  ring.  I  remember,  when  I  was  there, 
that  Miss  Moran  was  very  much  troubled  about 
one  of  the  girls  who  wore  a  ring  that  was  put 
upon  her  finger  years  before,  and  she  could  not 
get  it  off.  She  made  her  soak  her  hand  in 
warm,  soapy  water,  but  to  no  purpose,  and 
she  was  forced  to  let  her  wear  it." 

"  I  would  n't  have  remained  there  a  day," 
said  Ethel,  indignantly. 

"  I  am  sure  you  would  not,"  said  Kitty. 
"She  would  have  swept  your  dainty  ruffles 
and  delicate  laces  into  your  boxes  at  once, 


AT  MADAM  LEONARD'S. 


29 


and  you  would  not  have  seen  them  again,  until 
you  got  home.  One  must  be  '  plain  behind  and 
plain  before'  at  Miss  Moran's." 

"Then,  this  isn't  the  worse  place  in  the 
world  ?  "  queried  Ethel,  doubtfully. 

"  It  is  a  paradise  compared  with  Miss 
Moran's,"  said  Kitty. 

But,  notwithstanding  Kitty's  prediction 
concerning  the  length  of  Miss  Highgate's 
fit  of  temper,  that  young  lady  met  her  a  few 
hours  after,  with  her  face  wreathed  in  smiles. 
She  held  up  a  letter  with  a  foreign  postmark, 
saying,  — 

"  See !  I  have  a  letter  from  my  dearest 
friend.  And  only  think  !  she  tells  me  she  will 
be  here  by  Easter.  I  shall  begin  to  be  home- 
sick as  soon  as  I  know  she  has  arrived." 

"  We  cannot  allow  that,  my  child,"  said  the 
soft  voice  of  Madam  Leonard,  who  at  that 
moment  appeared.  "  But  how  is  my  dear 
Julia  ? " 

"  Very  well,  and  very  impatient  to  see  us  all, 
she  says,"  answered  the  radiant  Lizzie. 

"Dear  girl!"  said  Madam  Leonard,  "how 
much  we  all  want  to  see  her  !  She  was  my 


30  THE   WIDOW   WTSE. 

first  pupil,"  she  continued,  turning  to  Ethel, 
"  and  I  am  very  much  attached  to  her.  She 
married  soon  after  she  left  me,  and  in  six 
months  became  a  widow.  She  has  seen  much 
trouble,  but  she  bears  it  all  with  uncommon 
sweetness." 

"She  was  always  charming,"  said  Lizzie; 
"  but,  I  suppose,  she  will  come  back  more  fasci- 
nating than  ever,  if  possible.  She  has  been 
admired  immensely  abroad ;  but,  judging  from 
her  letters,  she  is  not  in  the  least  spoiled." 

"  You  are  very  enthusiastic  concerning  your 
friend,  my  dear,"  said  madam,  smiling,  "  and,  I 
am  sure,  you  have  reason  to  be;  she  is  very 
dear  to  us  all." 

Kitty  raised  her  eyebrows  at  this,  while 
Lizzie  read  from  the  letter :  — 

" « The  first  moment  I  can  spare  from  dearest 
mamma,  I  shall  go  to  my  dear  Madam 
Leonard.' " 

Madam  flushed  with  pleasure,  as  she 
answered :  — 

"  Her  devotion  to  her  mother  is  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  traits  of  her  character." 

Ethel  noticed  that  Kitty  not  only  raised  her 


A  T  MADAM  LEONARD'S.  3  I 

eyebrows  at  this,  but  her  expressive  shoulders, 
as  well ;  but  she  did  not  speak.  When  they 
were  alone  she  asked  :  — 

"  Who  is  this  remarkable  person,  whom 
Madam  Leonard  and  Miss  Highgate  vie  with 
each  other  in  praising  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  have  n't  you  heard  of  her  before  ? "  said 
Kitty.  "  I  am  surprised.  She  is  the  Widow 
Wyse,  whom  madam  is  always  holding  up  for 
an  example,  and  to  whom  Lizzie  writes  long, 
gushing  letters.  She  has  had  a  minute 
description  of  you,  my  dear,  long  before  this, 
with  Miss  Highgate's  own  personal  opinion 
of  you.  She  writes  regularly,  once  a  fortnight, 
giving  her  all  the  gossip.  She  receives  very 
irregular  replies,  but  Lizzie  is  more  than  satis- 
fied, for  she  knows  that  her  beloved  Julia  is  so 
admired,  and  so  overwhelmed  with  attentions, 
and  is  in  such  a  whirl  of  gayety  all  the  time,  that 
she  cannot  possibly  find  time  to  write  oftener, 
but  when  she  does  write  to  her  '  dear  little  Wild 
Rose '  she  tells  her  that  she  is  never  absent  from 
her  thoughts,  and  that  she  would  be  perfectly 
happy  if  said  '  Wild  Rose '  were  with  her,  and  I 
am  sure  I  wish  she  was  with  all  my  heart,  for  I 


32  THE   WIDOW    WTSE. 

am  quite  as  tired  of  her  as  I  am  of  the  Widow 
Wyse." 

"  Why  do  you  call  her  '  the  Widow  Wyse  '  ?  " 
said  Ethel,  laughing. 

"  Owing  to  the  natural  depravity  of  my 
nature,"  answered  Kitty;  "she  doesn't  like  it, 
and  it  makes  Lizzie  furious." 

"So  you  know  her  personally?" 

"  Oh  !  yes,"  answered  Kitty,  "  I  know  her  very 
well.  You  see,  sister  Margaret,  Mrs.  Onslow, 
lives  in  Alliance,  a  part  of  the  time,  as  her  hus- 
band has  large  manufacturing  interests  there, 
and  Mrs.  Houlton,  Mrs.  Wyse's  mother,  lives 
there  too,  so  it  was  Mrs.  Wyse's  former  home. 
It  is  Lizzie's  home  too,  and  it  was  upon  the 
widow's  recommendation  that  she  came  to 
Madam  Leonard's.  Alliance  is  a  lovely  place, 
and  as  Margaret  is  rather  lonely  there,  I  gener- 
ally visit  her  in  June,  and  sometimes  in  Septem- 
ber. She  is  at  the  seashore  during  July  and 
August,  and  she  spends  the  winter  in  Boston, 
coming  down  about  Thanksgiving  time.  I  want 
you  to  know  Margaret.  She  is  charming,  and 
dear  little  Gertrude  is  a  lovely  child.  You  will 
see  them  before  long  at  our  house,  and  we 


A  T  MADAM  LEONARD'S.  33 

will  visit  her  just  as  soon  as  Madam  Leonard 
dismisses  us  for  the  summer." 

"You  plan  beautifully  for  me,  Kitty,"  said 
Ethel ;  "  but  are  you  allowed  to  select  your 
sister's  guests  ?" 

"  My  sister  will  be  more  than  glad  to  have  you 
with  her,  so  you  need  not  say  a  word  or  make  a 
plan.  Everything  has  been  arranged  :  mamma 
and  I  have  planned  fully  for  our  holidays  and 
summer  vacation.  You  are  to  spend  Thanks- 
giving, Christmas,  and  the  Easter  holidays  with 
me  in  Boston,  June  at  Alliance  with  Margaret, 
July  and  August  at  our  country-place,  which  is 
lovely,  and  September  —  well,  we  hardly  know 
what  we  will  do  with  September  until  it  comes. 
It  is  a  lovely  month  to  travel.  If  you  have 
thought  for  a  moment  that  I  could  have  the 
heart  to  leave  you  in  this  forlorn  place  and 
go  back  to  my  dear,  delightful  old  home,  it  only 
shows  that  you  don't  know  Kitty  Brewster. 
And  now,  my  dear  Miss  Townsend,  allow  me 
to  inform  you  that  it  is  high  time  you  were 
studying." 

Ethel  gave  her  vivacious  little  friend  a 
grateful  kiss,  and  obediently  took  up  her  book. 


34  THE  WIDOW  WTSE. 

After  an  hour's  study,  during  which  time 
neither  of  the  girls  spoke  a  word,  Ethel  started 
up  suddenly,  saying,  "I  cannot  understand 
why  Jack  Fenton  does  n't  call  upon  me.  I 
think  it  is  very  shabby  of  him.  I  want  so 
much  to  introduce  him  to  you." 

Kitty  laughed  outright :  indeed,  she  seemed 
so  much  amused  that  Ethel  was  annoyed  and 
said  :  "  I  don't  know  what  you  are  laughing  at, 
Kitty;  it  seems  hardly  polite.  " 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  answered  Kitty,  still 
laughing,  "  but  you  are  such  an  amazing  piece 
of  innocence  that  I  positively  cannot  help  it. 
You  are  so  infantile  in  your  ideas,  my  child,  it 
is  perfectly  delicious.  You  think  you  can  have 
whatever  you  cry  for." 

"And  you  are  so  enigmatical  in  your  talk," 
retorted  Ethel,  "that  I  cannot  understand  you 
at  all.  Will  you  condescend  to  explain  ?  " 

Kitty  assumed  a  pitying  smile  as  she 
answered  :  "  If  you  have  imagined  for  a  moment 
that  you  will  be  permitted  to  see  one  of  the 
young  men  belonging  to  that  institution,"  point- 
ing to  the  university  buildings,  "you  will  be 
disappointed." 


AT  MADAM  LEONARD'S.  35 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,"  said  Ethel,  "that 
Madam  Leonard  would  not  allow  me  to  see 
Jack,  if  he  called  ? " 

"I  do  mean  to  say  just  that,"  answered 
Kitty. 

A  dangerous  light  came  into  Ethel's  eyes, 
as  she  said,  in  a  low  tone :  "  Kitty,  if  Jack 
Fcnton,  my  old  friend  and  neighbor  calls  here, 
I  shall  see  him.  Do  you  mark  what  I  say  ? 
/  shall  see  Jam." 

Kitty  shook  her  head,  and  at  that  moment 
a  class-bell  rang. 


CHAPTER  III. 

SCHOOL    LIFE    CONTINUED. 

ONE  Saturday  afternoon,  a  few  weeks  later, 
as  Ethel  was  looking  aimlessly  out  of  the  win- 
dow, she  saw  young  Fenton  coming  briskly  up 
the  walk.  In  an  instant  her  listlessness  was 
gone.  She  sprang  up  and,  girl-like,  threw  a 
hasty  glance  into  the  mirror,  saying,  "  There  's 
Jack,  at  last,"  and  started  toward  the  door.  She 
heard  him  ask  for  her,  and  he  was  invited  into 
the  drawing-room.  But,  instead  of  calling  her, 
the  servant  called  Miss  Carpenter,  who  said  a 
few  words  to  her  visitor,  and  dismissed  him. 
Ethel  could  hardly  believe  her  senses,  notwith- 
standing what  Kitty  had  said.  In  an  instant 
she  was  at  the  front-door,  in  which  stood  Miss 
Carpenter. 

"  That  was  my  visitor,"  said  Ethel,  in  a  low 
tone. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Miss  Carpenter,  coolly,  "  but 
the  young  ladies  arc  not  permitted  to  receive 
visits  from  young  gentlemen,"  —  raising  her 


SCHOOL  LIFE   CONTINUED.  37 

arm  to  bar  the  way.     "  Go  to  your  room,  Miss 
Townsend." 

"  Stand  out  of  my  way,"  said  Ethel,  fiercely 
pushing  her  arm  aside  as  she  walked  out  of  the 
door,  calling  after  the  fast-disappearing  Jack, 
leaving  Miss  Carpenter  the  picture  of  angry 
amazement. 

"  You  poor,  little  nun,"  said  Jack,  smiling,  and 
taking  the  hand  she  offered.  "  How  did  you 
manage  to  escape  ?  Joe  Highgate  offered  to 
bet  that  I  would  n't  be  able  to  catch  even  a 
glimpse  of  you,  but  I  thought  I  would  make 
the  attempt.  What  a  dragon  that  woman  is! 
I  thought  she  would  bite  my  head  off,  when  I 
asked  for  you.  Was  it  Madam  Leonard  ? " 

"Oh,  no,"  answered  Ethel,  recovering  her 
voice,  "  Madam  Leonard  is  a  lady,  at  least  in 
appearance.  It  was  Miss  Carpenter,  and  she  is 
an  'old  dragon.'  I  was  determined  to  see  you, 
especially  after  she  told  me,  with  so  much  ap- 
parent enjoyment,  that  I  could  n't,"  she  went 
on  rapidly ;  "but  I  am  too  angry- to  talk  to  you. 
I  wonder  I  did  n't  strike  her." 

"You  poor  child,"  said  Jack,  "what  will  she 
do  to  you  for  your  disobedience  ? " 


38  THE   WIDOW  WTSE. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,  and,  for  that  matter,  I 
don't  care,"  said  Ethel,  recklessly.  "  She  will 
shut  me  up,  and  keep  me  on  bread  and  water, 
perhaps.  Fancy  papa's  daughter  in  that  con- 
dition ! " 

"But  your  father  expected  me  to  call  upon 
you,  I  am  sure,"  said  Jack.  "  He  spoke  about  it 
in  New  York." 

"Poor,  dear  pa,"  answered  Ethel.  "How 
angry  he  would  be  if  he  knew  of  this.  I  won- 
der if  I  should  be  permitted  to  see  him  ?  No, 
I  am  not  to  see  you  or  anybody  else.  I  say 
it 's  a  shame,  a  perfect  outrage ! "  she  went  on, 
vehemently.  "I  have  a  great  mind  to  rebel." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  call  this,"  said  Jack, 
laughing.  "  I  should  call  it  rebellion,  with  a 
vengeance." 

"  So  it  is,"  answered  Ethel,  "  and  I  am  glad 
of  it ;  but  I  must  go  back.  Good-by !  "  and  back 
she  ran.  As  she  turned  toward  the  house,  her 
eye  caught  the  flutter  of  a  white  handkerchief 
at  one  of  the  upper  windows,  and  behind  it 
Lizzie  Highgate's  gypsy  face,  and  she  said 
to  herself,  while  her  lip  curled  with  scorn : 
"That's  Miss  Highgate's  idea  of  propriety." 


SCHOOL  LIFE   CONTINUED.  39 

Miss  Carpenter  met  her  at  the  door,  saying, 
in  her  primmest  manner :  — 

"  You  may  go  to  your  room,  Miss  Townsend, 
and  remain  there  while  I  confer  with  Madam 
Leonard." 

Ethel  looked  at  her  with  stormy  eyes,  but 
she  did  not  reply,  as  she  passed  on  to  her  room, 
which  she'  reached  full  of  wrath  and  indig- 
nation. She  expected  to  find  Kitty  and  to  pour 
her  woes  into  her  sympathetic  ear,  but  Miss 
Carpenter  had  taken  care  that  Ethel  should  be 
left  quite  alone  until  she  was  summoned  to  the 
dread  presence  of  Madam  Leonard. 

But  after  learning  of  Ethel's  unheard-of  dis- 
obedience, that  politic  woman  was  completely  at 
a  loss  as  to  what  it  was  best  to  do.  She  knew 
that  Ethel  would  not  bear  any  very  humiliating 
punishment,  and  she  was  far  too  profitable  a 
pupil  to  lose.  Sending  Miss  Carpenter  to  her 
duties,  she  pondered  deeply  upon  the  subject, 
and  at  last  decided  that  her  refractory  pupil 
must  be  conciliated,  however  mortifying  it 
might  be.  Pulling  the  bell-rope  at  her  side, 
madam  said  to  the  servant  who  answered  it :  — 

"  Go  to  Miss  Townsend's  room,  and  ask  her 


40  THE   WIDOW   WTSE. 

if  she  will  be  kind  enough  to  come  to  me  into 
the  library." 

Ethel  obeyed  the  polite  summons,  and  was 
met  at  the  door  by  Madam  Leonard. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  for  this,  my  child,"  she  said, 
with  a  sorrowful  smile. 

Ethel's  eyes  blazed,  but  she  did  not  speak. 
She  was  too  angry. 

"  Sit  down,  my  dear,  and  let  us  talk  it  over. 
You  must  not  think  that  I  do  not  know  just 
how  you  feel :  I  do  know  all  about  it,  and  I 
sympathize  with  you  too.  Yes,  dear,  I  do," 
she  repeated,  seeing  an  incredulous  look  in 
Ethel's  eyes,  "  although  it  may  be  hard  for  you 
to  think  so.  You  see,  Ethel,"  she  went  on, 
artfully,  "that,  while  I  would  do  anything  in 
my  power  to  make  you  happy,  I  must  maintain 
the  dignity  of  my  household.  You  cannot  see 
any  reason  why  you  should  not  receive  a  call 
from  your  young  friend,  and  under  other  circum- 
stances there  would  be  none.  But  put  yourself 
in  my  place,  for  a  moment,  if  you  can.  What 
would  be  the  result  of  my  permitting  such 
a  thing?  Would  not  the  other  young  ladies 
insist  upon  the  same  privilege  ?  Would  Lizzie 


SCHOOL  LIFE  CONTINUED.  41 

Highgate,  or  Kitty  Brewster,  or  Edith  Preble, 
say,  smilingly  :  '  It  is  perfectly  proper  for  Ethel 
Townsend  to  receive  the  young  collegians 
but  it  would  not  be  proper  for  me '  ?  You 
know  they  would  not.  Why,  my  dear  child," 
she  went  on,  with  engaging  sweetness,  "  I  have 
not  a  plain  or  uninteresting  young  lady  in  my 
house.  Ah !  how  I  should  like  to  bring  you  all 
out,  if  I  were  in  society,  and  if  I  should  open 
my  house  to  the  students,  it  would  be  overrun 
with  them,"  and  here  she  ventured  to  pat 
Ethel's  hand  gently.  "  Ethel,  dear,  don't  you 
see  I  could  n't  do  it  ? " 

"  But  papa  invited  him  to  call  upon  me,"  said 
Ethel,  her  anger  fast  dying  out. 

"Yes,  dear,"  answered  Madam  Leonard,  "I 
do  not  doubt  that  at  all,  but  he  did  not  under- 
stand the  difficulties  in  the  case.  I  am  sure  he 
would  sustain  me  if  he  did." 

"Perhaps  he  would,"  answered  Ethel,  can- 
didly; "but  why  should  Miss  Carpenter  treat 
us  as  she  does  ?  She  takes  every  opportunity 
to  be  disagreeable,  and  we  all  detest  her  for  it." 

"Detest  is  a  strong  word,  my  dear,"  said 
Madam  Leonard,  smiling.  "  But  did  it  ever 


42  THE   WIDOW 

occur  to  you  that  she  might  be  one  of  my  trials, 
too  ?  You  have  had  a  great  trial  to-day,  and  I 
am  showing  you  both  sympathy  and  confidence 
in  speaking  in  this  way.  I  should  not  dare  to 
speak  of  Miss  Carpenter  as  I  have  done  to  any- 
body else  in  the  house."  And  she  spoke  truly. 
She  knew  that  Ethel  was  the  soul  of  honor. 
"She  is  a  fine  scholar,  and  an  able  teacher,  and 
is  invaluable  to  me  in  many  ways.  I  do  not 
think  I  could  find  anybody  to  quite  fill  her 
place.  When  I  first  received  young  ladies  in 
this  way  I  had  a  charming  young  teacher  whom 
they  all  loved,  but  I  found  after  a  while  that 
they  did  not  get  on  as  they  ought,  and,  upon 
investigation,  I  discovered  that  she  not  only 
was  not  sufficiently  learned  herself,  but  that 
she  had  not  the  gift  of  imparting  to  others 
what  she  did  know,  so  I  was  obliged  to  dismiss 
her.  Miss  Carpenter  came  to  me  with  the 
highest  testimonials,  and  I  engaged  her  at 
once.  She  is  not  very  amiable,  I  know,  but  she 
suits  me  in  other  respects,  so  I  do  not  like  to 
give  her  up;"  and  seeing  that  Ethel  was  in  a 
very  different  frame  of  mind  to  when  she  en- 
tered, she  thought  it  safe  to  dismiss  her,  which 
she  did  with  these  words :  — 


SCHOOL  LIFE  CONTINUED.  43 

"Now,  my  dear,  I  am  going  to  recommend  a 
dose  of  medicine.  What  should  a  little  girl, 
who'  has  disobeyed,  and  been  let  off  with  a 
short  lecture,  do  ?  " 

Ethel  looked  up  inquiringly. 

"  She  can  do  no  less  than  apologize,  can 
she  ? " 

"  Do  you  mean  that  I  shall  write  a  note  to 
Miss  Carpenter?"  asked  Ethel. 

"  I  will  leave  it  entirely  with  you,  Ethel,"  said 
Madam  Leonard,  knowing  very  well  that  Ethel 
would  do  as  she  desired. 

Ethel  went  to  her  room,  but  she  was  hardly 
satisfied. 

"  I  don't  know  what  makes  me  distrust 
Madam  Leonard  so,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  What 
she  says  seems  reasonable  enough.  All  the 
same,  I  don't  like  her.  I  feel  as  though  I  ought 
to  keep  saying,  'From  hatred'  and  malice  and 
all  uncharitableness,'  etc.  I  '11  write  to  papa. 
He  understands  me  better  than  anybody  else." 
And  seizing  her  pen,  she  wrote  :  — 

"  MY  DEAR  PAPA,  —  You  have  called  me, 
many  times,  a  clear-headed  young  lady.  Well, 
do  you  know  that  I  sometimes  wish  that  I  were 


44  THE  WIDOW  WTSE. 

a  little  stupid,  like  other  people.  I  should  then 
be  considered  much  more  amiable  and  chari- 
table than  I  am  at  present.  I  am  not  trying 
to  mystify  you,  but  shall  come  to  the  point  at 
once.  I  wish  I  had  no  doubts  about  Madam 
Leonard.  You  thought  her  charming,  and  are, 
no  doubt,  secretly  hoping  that  your  daughter 
may  grow  to  be  like  her.  Heaven  forbid ! 
The  other  young  ladies  think  her  sweet  and 
lovely.  They  grow  very  enthusiastic  over  her, 
and  wonder  at  my  coldness  on  the  subject. 
They  are  equally  agreed  in  detesting  Miss 
Carpenter.  Now  there  is  no  doubt  at  all 
about  Miss  Carpenter's  being  detestable  ;  but 
the  question  will  keep  rising  in  my  mind, 
whether  Madam  Leonard  is  not  equally  so. 
Miss  Carpenter  surely  does  not  make  the  rules. 
They  are  made  by  madam  herself,  and  it  is  safe 
to  conclude  that  they  are  carried  out  by  her 
orders,  and  I  can  say  truly  that  they  are 
carried  out  with  a  vengeance.  '  Eternal  vigi- 
lance '  is  Miss  Carpenter's  motto  ;  she  is  faith- 
ful to  her  employer,  which  is  the  only  admi- 
rable thing  about  her.  But  what  seems  strange 
to  me  is  the  superficial  way  in  which  the 


SCHOOL  LIFE  CONTINUED.  45 

young  ladies  look  at  this  matter ;  at  least,  all 
but  Edith  Preble,  who  says  very  little.  She  is 
engaged,  and  does  n't  seem  to  care  for  small 
annoyances.  Kitty  proposes  that  we  all  get 
engaged,  and  then  we  shall  see  nothing  but  the 
faces  of  our  beloved  ones,  and  shall  not  need  to 
be  watched.  But  this  is  a  digression. 

"  To  go  back  to  Madam  Leonard  :  she  seems 
to  me  just  like  those  high-toned  politicians 
we  know  of,  who  employ  those  beneath  them 
socially  to  do  their  dirty  work  —  a  cold,  cal- 
culating woman,  with  'a  hand  of  iron  and  a 
heart  of  steel.'  I  sometimes  wonder  if  she 
ever  felt  one  generous  impulse.  Going  to  her 
from  my  warm-hearted,  generous,  impulsive 
Kitty  is  like  foolishly  eating  an  ice  after  a 
hot  dinner.  It  strikes  a  chill  to  one's  very 
marrow.  I  feel  a  chill  creep  into  my  heart 
whenever  I  approach  her,  and  it  remains  while 
I  am  in  her  presence.  I  am  rather  glad  to 
write  this  instead  of  saying  it,  for  you  would 
interrupt  me  with  questions  and  apologies  for 
madam,  and  otherwise  distract  me,  and  you 
know  that  I  am  never  satisfied  until  I  have 
'said  my  say.' 


46  THE  WIDOW  WTSE. 

"There  is  another  thing  that  I  cannot  under- 
stand, and  that  is  our  proximity  to  the  uni- 
versity. Kitty  says  that  it  is  because  two  or 
three  of  the  girls  have  brothers  there,  and 
their  parents  persuaded  madam  to  change  her 
residence,  which  was  formerly  near  Philadel- 
phia. But  it  can  hardly  be  for  that  reason, 
since  the  students  are  not  allowed  to  call  upon 
the  young  ladies  upon  any  pretext  whatsoever, 
neither  are  we  allowed  to  go  where  we  shall  be 
likely  to  meet  them.  What  will  you  think 
when  I  tell  you  that  I  was  forbidden  to  see 
Jack  Fenton  this  afternoon  ?  I  did  see  him, 
however,  but  it  was  by  wilful  disobedience,  for 
which  I  am  in  disgrace.  I  have  been  lectured 
by  madam,  and  I  must  write  a  note  of  apology 
to  Miss  Carpenter  for  defying  her  authority, 
but  I  fancy  it  will  not  be  very  satisfactory  to 
her.  What  do  you  think  about  it  ? 

"  Oh !  yes,  dear  papa,  this  is  undoubtedly  a 
'safe  place  for  girls.'  But  you  must  not  think 
me  unhappy.  Indeed,  I  think  I  rather  enjoy 
this  new  experience.  It  is  an  amazing  ex- 
perience I  assure  you;  for  it  gives  me  an 
opportunity  to  study  different  characters,  — 


SCHOOL  LIFE  CONTINUED.  47 

unusual  characters, — it  seems  to  me.  And 
then  I  have  something  to  look  forward  to,  for 
every  day  brings  us  nearer  to  that  blessed,  old 
Yankee  feast-day  —  Thanksgiving.  I  am  to 
spend  that  and  the  three  following  days  with 
Kitty  in  Boston. 

"  You  cannot  think  how  kind  the  Brewsters 
are  to  your  daughter.  Mrs.  Brewster  came  to 
see  Kitty  last  week,  and  brought  the  loveliest 
flowers ;  you  can  imagine  how  I  reveled  in 
them.  She  is  a  charming  woman,  and  she 
invited  me,  in  the  warmest  manner,  to  visit 
them.  She  idolizes  Kitty,  and  Kitty  loves  me, 
so  you  see  I  am  in  an  enviable  position.  Dido 
is  in  despair  because  she  cannot  cook  my 
Thanksgiving  dinner.  She  seems  contented, 
and  always  says :  '  Say  howdy  to  yer  paw,' 
—  but  poor  Dumps;  you  would  laugh  to  hear 
her  go  on.  She  says  :  '  Dis  yer  Norf  is  drefful 
fur  de  mizzry  in  my  head,  and  my  pore  ole 
bones.'  She  says  that  I  shall  send  her  home 
in  a  little  box,  and  I  shall  hear  her  bones  rattle 
round  like  peas  in  a  pod.  When  I  get  low- 
spirited  I  go  to  see  her,  and  she  does  really 
cheer  me  up,  as  you  predicted.  She  is  very 


48  THE   WIDOW  WTSE, 

bright,  and  so  ridiculously  solemn,  and  makes 
such  droll  speeches,  that  no  one  could  help 
laughing  at  her. 

"  How  strange  that  you  should  run  across 
'the  Widow  Wyse,'  as  Kitty  calls  her.  She 
was  Madam  Leonard's  pet  pupil,  and  Lizzie 
Highgate's  most  intimate  friend,  so  we  hear  a 
good  deal  about  her.  You  did  not  say  whether 
you  were  favorably  impressed  by  her  or  not. 
I  hope  not,  for  I  am  sure  I  should  not  like 
her.  I  hear  you  say :  '  Could  prejudice  go 
farther  ? '  All  the  same,  your  Teddy  is  almost 
always  right. 

"  Mrs.  Brewster  writes  that  your  friend, 
Richard  Apthorpe,  returned  last  week,  so  I 
suppose  you  did  not  meet  him  as  you  hoped. 
Kitty  says  that  he  is  very  clever  and  very 
critical,  and  that  she  is  awfully  afraid  of  him. 
She  says  that  I  shall  be  sure  to  meet  him,  as 
he  and  her  mamma  are  the  best  of  friends. 
Now,  is  it  not  very  sweet  of  Kitty  to  invite 
me  to  her  home  ?  Such  a  rest  as  it  will  be 
from  Madam  Leonard's. 

"  Your  letters  are  such  a  comfort  to  me  ;  you 
would  laugh,  I  am  sure,  if  you  could  know  how 


SCHOOL  LIFE  CONTINUED.  49 

many  times  I  have  read  your  last.  Indeed,  I 
do  not  know  myself.  I  take  a  peep  into  it 
whenever  I  get  a  moment's  time.  I  like  your 
way  of  writing  letters  —  jotting  down  interest- 
ing things  as  they  occur,  like  keeping  a  jour- 
nal. And  this  reminds  me  of  my  promise 
to  you  when  you  left  me. 

"  Now,  dear  papa,  I  cannot  understand  why 
you  should  wish  me  to  keep  a  journal.  In 
the  first  place  it  is  mighty  hard  (a  darkeyism), 
and  I  have  been  trying  to  find  a  sufficient 
excuse  for  not  doing  it.  And  I  must  tell  you 
of  one  which  came  to  me  yesterday,  in  the 
shape  of  a  story — a  true  one,  told  by  Lizzie 
Highgate. 

"It  seems  that  one  of  her  acquaintances, 
a  lady  prominent  in  society,  had  for  years  kept, 
a  diary  of  the  smallest  events  concerning  her 
household  matters.  Of  the  expenses,  and  the 
trouble  she  had  in  getting  the  necessary 
money  from  'that  stingy  man'  to  meet  them. 
Of  the  frequent  quarrels  between  herself  and 
'that  horrid  man.'  Of  her  joy  when  the 
'  hateful  old  bear '  went  away,  and  of  the  peace- 
fulness  which  came  over  the  household  in 


50  THE   WIDOW  WYSE. 

consequence  of  his  absence  ;  and  of  the  trials, 
troubles,  and  tribulations  of  married  life  gener- 
ally. All  of  which  was  true,  no  doubt,  and  it 
must  have  been  a  great  relief  to  the  poor 
woman's  overburdened  soul  thus  to  confide  in 
her  dumb  friend,  the  journal.  And  it  would 
have  been  all  right,  and  a  great  comfort  for  her 
to  read  over,  and  thus  bring  often  to  mind  the 
cruelties  practised  upon  an  amiable  and,  of 
course,  inoffensive  woman.  But  alas  !  one  day, 
after  tiring  herself  to  death  cutting  out  gar- 
ments for  the  poor,  —  she  was  very  charitable 
withal,  —  she  drew  from  its  hiding-place  the 
beloved  journal,  and,  after  reading  a  few  lines 
let  it  drop  into  her  lap,  while  her  thoughts 
(probably)  went  back  to  the  days  of  her  girl- 
hood, with  scores  of  lovers  to  choose  from,  any 
one  of  whom  —  well!  well!  well!  how  her 
thoughts  flew  from  one  to  another,  when 
the  doorbell  rang.  There  was  a  summons  to 
the  drawing-room,  and  madam,  rising  hastily, 
let  the  journal  fall  among  the  cuttings  at  her 
feet,  and  the  servant,  coming  in  a  few  minutes 
later,  gathered  up  all  for  the  ragbag,  the  con- 
tents of  which  were  sold  that  very  afternoon. 


SCHOOL  LIFE  CONTINUED.  5  I 

"  Alas !  the  worthy  ragman  had  a  wife,  who, 
with  the  curiosity  natural  to  her  sex,  went 
through  that  ragbag.  You  can  imagine  the 
result.  Before  two  days  had  passed  the  town 
was  ringing  with  the  scandal.  The  '  Is  it 
possibles?'  and  'I  told  you  sos'  were  upon 
every  lip.  You  can  fancy  the  feelings  of  the 
poor  victims. 

"  Now,  papa,  you  must  give  me  back  my 
promise,  while  I  make  a  solemn  vow  never, 
never  to  keep  a  journal. 

"  I  wonder  how  much  longer  I  am  to  stay 
alone.  They  have  taken  Kitty  away  to  punish 
me,  but  I  am  sure  it  is  as  much  of  a  punish- 
ment for  her  as  it  is  for  me.  Thus,  you  see, 
the  good  suffer  for  the  evil  deeds  of  the  wicked. 
I  shall  now  proceed  to  write  that  note  of 
apology. 

"  Your  naughty,  but  unrepentant, 

"TEDDY." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    SOPHOMORES. 

"  WELL,  old  fellow  !  what  success  ?  Got  your 
labor  for  your  pains,  eh  ?  I  told  you  so,"  said 
Joe  Highgate  to  Jack  Fenton  on  his  return 
from  his  visit  to  Ethel. 

"  By  Jove,  Joe  !  I  Ve  a  good  mind  to  set  fire 
to  the  old  shebang,  and  rescue  the  girls,"  said 
Jack ;  "  the  way  they  treat  those  poor  little 
nuns  is  an  outrage  on  decency.  I  wonder  Ethel 
Townsend  bears  it.  But  you  would  have  lost 
your  bet,  old  man,  for  I  did  see  her,  although 
I  was  told  I  could  n't.  She  rushed  by  that 
old  dragon  of  a  Carpenter  like  a  whirlwind. 
Heavens  !  how  her  eyes  blazed  !  I  tell  you,  Joe, 
she's  a  trump." 

"I  say,"  drawled  Joe,  "an  idea  strikes  me." 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ? "  queried  Jack.  "  Let  us 
have  it  within  a  week.  When  an  idea  strikes 
you,  it  generally  knocks  you  senseless." 

"It  does,  eh?"  answered  Joe,  in  his  slowest 
way.  "Perhaps  you  had  better  wait  until  I 


THE  SOPHOMORES.  53 

"When  you  will  probably  forget  all  about 
it." 

"  Never  you  mind,  my  boy,"  answered  Joe, 
good-naturedly.  "Just  you  get  the  fellows 
together  this  evening.  I  am  going  to  town 
now."  Said  "fellows"  being  half  a  dozen 
sophomores,  as  full  of  diablerie  as  themselves. 

The  next  Saturday,  as  the  young  ladies  were 
being  marshaled  along  in  the  usual  fashion, 
they  saw  in  the  distance  what  seemed  to  be  a 
funeral  procession  coming  toward  them.  As 
it  came  nearer,  however,  they  saw  that  it  was 
a  party  of  young  men,  all  dressed  in  solemn 
black,  and  marching,  along  in  exact  imitation 
of  themselves.  At  the  head  walked  Jack 
Fenton,  and  at  the  foot  Joe  Highgate,  as 
keepers,  bending  upon  the  others  an  anxious, 
I-pan't-trust-you-a-minute  look.  No  one  of  the 
students  raised  his  eyes  for  a  moment  from  the 
ground,  or  gave  the  smallest  sign  that  they 
were  aware  of  the  presence  of  the  young  ladies. 
It  was  irresistibly  comical,  so  intensely  funny 
that  no  one  could  help  laughing.  The  girls 
struggled  for  a  moment  to  restrain  their  gig- 
gles, then  burst  tumultuously  into  convulsive 


54  THE   V/IDOW    WYSE. 

fits  of  laughter.  The  corners  of  Miss  Eliza's 
mouth  twitched,  but  whether  from  anger  or 
amusement,  they  could  not  determine.  Miss 
Carpenter  was  adamant.  The  girls  lost  all 
control  over  themselves,  and,  after  trying  in 
vain  to  restore  their  minds  to  anything  like 
a  serious,  contemplative  enjoyment  of  the 
beauties  of  nature,  Miss  Carpenter  decided  to 
return  to  the  house.  But  the  young  men  had 
not  yet  nnfshed  their  wild  prank. 

"Here,  you  little  Zaccheus,"  said  Joe  High- 
gate  to  Charlie  Adams,  the  smallest  of  their 
number,  "  shinny  up  that  tree,  will  you  ?  and 
see  when  the  little  dears  turn,  and  we  '11  meet 
'em  again." 

The  second  meeting  was  even  more  of  a 
trial  for  the  girls  than  the  first,  but  they  finally 
reached  home  and  congregated  in  the  young 
ladies'  parlor,  while  Miss  Carpenter,  with  her 
face  aflame,  and  the  corners  of  her  mouth 
drawn  down  in  the  most  uncompromising  way, 
went  to  seek  Madam  Leonard. 

"Oh,  what  a  lark!"  said  Lizzie  Highgate. 
This  remark  was  greeted  with  a  shout  of  laugh- 
ter, followed  by  a  chorus  of  voices. 


THE  SOPHOMORES. 


55 


"  Was  n't  it  good !  Three  cheers  for  the 
sophs. ! "  etc. 

"  It  was  the  best  thing  I  ever  heard  of,"  said 
Ethel,  "  and  if  Miss  Carpenter  was  n't  made 
of  stone  throughout,  she  could  n't  have  looked 
so  much  like  a  statue  through  it  all.  And  poor 
Miss  Eliza !  how  she  wanted  to  laugh  !  Did  n't 
you  pity  the  poor  thing  ?  Oh !  it  was  too 
good ;  I  tell  you,  girls,  those  boys  ought  to  be 
rewarded  for  their  cleverness.  I  d<3n't  believe 
that  girls,  even,  could  have  done  better." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  cried  all  in  a  breath.  "  Let 's 
show  them  that  we  can  appreciate  a  good  thing 
when  we  see  it ;  what  shall  we  do  ? " 

"  Wait  until  after  our  lecture,  for  you  may 
be  sure  that  we  shall  be  blamed  in  some  way 
for  this,"  said  Ethel,  "  and  then  we  will  see." 

"I  am  sure,"  said  Edith  Preble,  "that  if 
Miss  Carpenter  would  use  a  little  common 
sense,  and  not  force  us  to  appear  so  ridiculous, 
the  young  men  would  never  have  thought 
of  this." 

Although  prepared  for  the  long  lecture  which 
came,  as  was  anticipated,  Ethel  was  very  indig- 
nant, for  she  knew  that  it  was  very  unjust 


56  THE   WIDOW   WTSE. 

in  Miss  Carpenter  to  even  hint  of  blame  as 
far  they  were  concerned,  and  without  allowing 
herself  time  to  think,  or  to  consult  with  the 
girls,  she  seized  her  pen  as  soon  as  she  reached 
her  room  and  wrote  to  "Jack  Fenton  and 
Friends,"  as  follows  :  — 

"  GENTLEMEN,  —  Your  motives  are  under- 
stood. We  are  no  longer  the  simple-minded 
maidens  of  this  morning.  During  a  lecture 
this  evening  on  the  wickedness  of  young  men 
in  general,  and  the  total  depravity  of  college 
young  men  in  particular,  we  were  told  that 
you  are  'roaring  lions  going  about  seeking 
whom  you  may  devour,'  though  to  tell  the 
truth  you  did  look  like  the  meekest  and  mildest 
of  lambs,  but  that  was,  of  course,  all  outside 
appearance.  Therefore,  it  was  decreed  that, 
on  Saturday  next,  we  turn  to  the  sunny  left, 
and  leave  our  beloved  woods  to  you.  Hoping 
that  you  will  no  longer  disturb  our  quiet  peace- 
fulness,  we  remain, 

"  Your  natural  enemies, 
"THE  YOUNG  LADIES  OF  MADAM  LEONARD'S." 


THE  SOPHOMORES.  57 

The  result  was  what  might  have  been 
expected.  They  had  scarcely  walked  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  the  Saturday  following,  when,  seeing 
the  same  slow  procession  of  the  Saturday 
before  advancing,  Miss  Carpenter  suddenly 
wheeled  her  charges,  and  with  undignified 
haste  led  them  back  to  the  house,  saying,  — 

"  Now,  young  ladies,  we  will  have  no  more 
promenades  until  the  proprieties  can  be 
observed." 

This  was  what  Ethel  had  not  bargained  for. 
She  did  not  like  to  give  up  the  Saturday 
promenade,  although  it  was  made  disagreeable 
by  the  presence  of  her  tormentors ;  besides, 
she  felt  not  a  little  ashamed  of  her  part  in  the 
proceedings.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  talk 
among  the  girls,  but  she  preserved  a  discreet 
silence.  Finally,  after  thinking  the  matter 
over  for  a  few  days,  she  wrote  the  following 
letter  to  Jack  Fenton  :  —  x 

"DEAR  JACK,  —  We  were  so  delighted  with 
the  first  act  of  your  performance  that  with  one 
mind  and  one  voice  we  cried  encore.  That 
enthusiasm  has  cost  us  dear.  The  strictest 


58  THEWIDOW  WTSE. 

watch  is  kept  over  us,  and  we  are  pining  for 
our  accustomed  walk.  We  are  forced  to  take 
our  exercise  in  the  gymnasium  and  within  the 
grounds.  I  am  sure  you  will  wish  to  know  that 
we  shall  not  be  permitted  to  go  beyond  them 
until  Miss  Carpenter  is  quite  sure  that  we 
shall  not  again  encounter  '  the  roaring  lions ' 
from  yonder  menagerie.  Do  not  answer  this, 
for  we  are  not  allowed  to  receive  letters  with- 
out previous  examination  by  Madam  Leonard, 
except  from  our  parents.  I  get  this  to  you 
through  Dumps.  E.  x." 

Jack  Fenton  comprehended  the  situation, 
and  at  once  set  about  making  arrangements 
to  offer  the  amende  honorable.  After  consult- 
^ing  his  comrades  he  wrote  as  follows  :  — 

"DEAR  MADAM  LEONARD, — Regretting  our 
thoughtless  joke,  and  fearing  that  it  may  have 
led  to  unpleasant  consequences  for  innocent 
persons,  we  beg  leave  to  offer  our  most 
humble  apologies,  and  to  pledge  our  word 
of  honor  that,  so  far  as  we  are  concerned, 
nothing  of  the  kind  shall  occur  again.  Hoping 


THE  SOPHOMORES.  59 

that  you  will  pardon  us,  we  are,  with  the  high- 
est consideration, 

"  Your  friends, 

"THE  STUDENTS." 

No  further  allusion  was  ever  made  to  the 
subject  at  Madam  Leonard's,  and  everything 
went  on  as  usual  until  the  day  before  Thanks- 
giving, when  the  girls  living  near  went  home 
for  a  short  vacation. 


CHAPTER  V. 

AT    THE    BREWSTERS'. 

KITTY  and  Ethel  were  in  the  wildest  pos- 
sible spirits  when  they  reached  the  Brewster 
mansion,  which  was  ablaze  with  light  and 
fragrant  with  flowers.  Kitty  rushed  into  her 
mother's  arms,  saying, — 

"  You  dear,  blessed  old  mamma,  do  you 
know  how  glad  I  am  ? " 

"Yes,  dear,"  answered  Mrs.  Brewster,  smil- 
ing, "and  I  am  sure  you  know  how  glad  we  are, 
too."  Then  turning  to  Ethel  she  kissed  her 
on  both  cheeks,  saying, — 

"  My  dear  child,  nothing  would  please  us 
more  than  to  have  you  consider  yourself 
Kitty's  sister  while  you  are  here.  Pray,  make 
yourself  as  thoroughly  at  home  as  possible." 

There  was  a  sudden  rush  of  tears  to  Ethel's 
brown  eyes  at  this  warm  greeting.  She  could 
only  look  her  thanks,  but  she  felt  sure  that 
Mrs.  Brewster  understood  how  grateful  she  was. 
Then  Mr.  Brewster  came  in,  saying,  — 


AT  THE  BREWSTERS'.  6 1 

"  Well,  Kittikin,  you  look  as  though  you 
had  begun  to  give  thanks  already." 

"  Oh,  yes,  papa,  we  began  the  instant  we  left 
Madam  Leonard's." 

He  welcomed  Ethel  very  cordially,  and  she 
felt  at  her  ease  at  once.  Mr.  Brewster, 
although  a  thorough  man  of  business,  was  a 
delightful  host,  cordial  and  sympathetic,  with  a 
smile  and  a  kind  word  for  all.  He  wks  a  tall, 
handsome  man,  with  dark,  piercing  eyes,  and 
hair  plentifully  sprinkled  with  gray. 

"Now,  my  dears,"  said  Mrs.  Brewster,  "run 
upstairs  and  dress  for  dinner." 

"  But  where  is  Margaret  ?  "  asked  Kitty. 

"She  is  in  her  room,"  answered  her  mother. 
"  She  arrived  only  an  hour  ago,  and  feeling 
rather  tired  with  her  journey,  I  persuaded  her 
to  lie  down.  You  will  see  her  soon.  Take 
Ethel  to  Margaret's  old  room,  and  make  your- 
selves presentable.  Your  trunks  have  gone  up. 
Shall  I  send  Mary  to  you  ?  " 

"Oh!  no,"  answered  Kitty,  "we  are  in- 
dependent of  Marys,  are  n't  we,  Ethel  ? " 

"Yes,  indeed,"  she  answered,  "among  other 
good  things  we  have  learned  to  wait  on  our- 
selves, and  I  think  we  rather  like  it." 


62  THE   WIDOW  WYSE. 

Kitty  led  the  way  to  her  own  room  first,  and 
as  Ethel  caught  a  glimpse  of  its  dainty  fur- 
nishings of  pink  and  blue  she  \vas  m  ecstasies. 

"Oh!  how  lovely  it  is,"  she  exclaimed. 
"How  dreadful  Madam  Leonard's  must  seem 
to  you." 

"It  is  my  discipline,  my  dear,"  said  Kitty, 
philosophically.  "  I  appreciate  it  all  the  more 
when  I  am  permitted  to  enjoy  it.  But  this  is 
your  room,  next  to  mine ;  it  used  to  be 
Margaret's.  How  do  you  like  it  ?  The  yellow 
hangings  just  suit  your  hair." 

"It  is  simply  perfect,"  answered  Ethel, 
"  and  those  yellow  roses  —  what  a  profusion  of 
them  ! " 

"Yes,"  answered  Kitty,  "if  there  is  any  one 
thing  that  mamma  fairly  dotes  upon,  it  is 
flowers.  They  are  sent  in  twice  a  week  from 
our  country-place,  a  few  miles  out." 

Ethel  was  soon  arrayed  in  a  dark-green  silk 
trimmed  with  plush  of  the  same  shade,  with 
a  dainty  bit  of  lace  at  the  throat  and  a  cluster 
of  the  yellow  roses. 

"What  a  picture  you  are,  and  how  quickly 
you  dress.  I  shall  wear  something  you  have 


AT  THE  BREWSTERS'.  63 

never  seen.  How  do  you  like  it  ?  "  asked  Kitty, 
as  she  threw  on  a  lovely  fawn-colored  cashmere 
trimmed  with  fans  of  cardinal  silk. 

"It  is  charming,"  said  Ethel,  "and  it  just 
suits  you.  How  beautifully  it  lights  up." 

"  Now  I  must  have  some  flowers  to  match 
my  trimming,"  said  Kitty,  as  she  rang  the 
bell  and  ordered  some  Jacqueminots  for  her 
corsage. 

"How  do  you  know  there  are  any?"  asked 
Ethel. 

"  Oh,  there  are  sure  to  be  some,  for  they  are 
mamma's  favorites.  She  is  very  particular 
about  the  flowers." 

Just  then  Mary  returned  with  the  flowers, 
and  after  fastening  them  in  their  proper  places, 
the  two  girls  descended.  Mrs.  Onslow  met 
them  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  She  was  Kitty's 
only  sister,  and  was  a  lovely  woman,  with  a 
pure,  fair,  young  face,  her  head  crowned  with 
beautiful,  abundant,  though  prematurely  gray 
hair.  This  crown  of  glory  was  the  wonder 
and  admiration  of  her  friends.  She  looked 
like  a  picture  of  some  famous  court  beauty. 
Kitty  was  very  proud  of  her,  and  she  looked 


64  THE  WIDOW  WTSE. 

for  the  admiration  in  Ethel's  eyes  she  was  sure 
to  find  there.  Peeping  shyly  from  behind  her 
mamma,  "a  lesser  transcript  of  herself,"  was 
little  five-year-old  Gertrude,  shaking  down  her 
heavy,  dark  hair  until  her  face  was  fairly 
covered. 

"  Oh,  you  little  nun,  put  back  that  black 
veil ! "  exclaimed  Kitty,  trying  to  catch  her 
as  she  ran,  with  a  laugh  as  sweet  and  soft  as 
the  trill  of  a  bird,  toward  the  drawing-room. 

What  a  happy  evening  it  was  !  It  was  nearly 
midnight  when  they  said  good-night,  Kitty 
saying  to  Ethel :  — 

"  I  wonder  how  it  will  seem  to  be  allowed 
to  finish  our  morning  nap  ?  I  shall  not  stir 
i  ntil  half-;:ast  eight,  and  you  must  not  either." 

"  1  shall  obey  that  command  without  a  mur- 
mur," answered  Ethel  with  the  last  good-night. 

"  Have  you  provided  for  your  poor  pets  ? " 
asked  Kitty  of  her  mamma  the  next  morning. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  answered  Mrs.  Brewster. 
"They  will  all  have  a  good  dinner  to-day." 

"  I  believe  that  mamma  feeds  more  beggars," 
said  Kitty,  "  than  any  other  person  in  Boston." 

"That's  a  broad  statement,  my  dear,"  said 


AT  THE  BREWSTER&.  65 

her  mother.  "  I  do  try  to  do  some  good  to  my 
fellow-beings,  but  I  do  not  give  indiscrimi- 
nately; I  make  a  personal  investigation  in  every 
case,  and  I  am  sure  that  those  to  whom  I 
give  are  worthy."  .  ; 

"I  should  think  that  that  would  often  be 
very  unpleasant,"  said  Ethel. 

"  Duty  is  none  the  less  duty  because  it'  is 
unpleasant,  my  dear,"  answered  Mrs.  Brewster, 
smiling.  "  I  should  feel  as  though  I  were 
shifting  my  responsibility  to  other  shoulders, 
if  I  did  not  visit  my  poor  myself  —  besides  it 
is  not  all  unpleasant.  There  are  many  sun- 
shiny spots  in  the  dwellings  of  the  poor.  Their 
gratitude  is  often  worth  more  to  me  than  the 
trouble  I  take  for  them,  and  they  set  an 
example  of  patience,  sometimes,  that  it  would 
be  well  for  more  fortunate  ones  to  imitate. 
But  now  with  regard  to  yourselves ;  what  will 
you  do  to-day  ?  " 

"For  my  part,"  answered  Ethel,  "I  should 
like  to  just  stay  here  quietly,  and  enjoy  my 
freedom  in  this  lovely  house." 

"  So  you  shall,  my  dear,"  answered  Kitty. 
"  And  after  luncheon,  if  you  like,  we  will  take 
a  little  drive  about  the  city." 


66  THE  WIDOW  wrsE. 

"That  will  suit  me  exactly,"  answered  Ethel, 
"for  I  have  not  seen  Boston  since  I  was  a  little 
girl;  but  for  the  present,  I  shall  just  feast  my 
eyes  on  these  lovely  adornments,"  looking 
about  the  charmingly  attractive  drawing-room. 

Mrs.  Brewster  was  a  lady  of  exquisite  taste, 
passionately  fond  of  flowers,  and  very  skilful 
in  arranging  them.  They  met  the  eye  at  every 
turn.  There  were  large  pots  and  lovely  jars 
of  growing  plants,  blossoming  profusely,  in  hall 
and  reception-room,  and  exquisite  vases  of  cut 
flowers  in  library  and  drawing-room. 

She  had  a  pretty  fancy  of  ornamenting  the 
breakfast-table  with  a  glass  vase  filled  with 
cool-looking,  graceful  ferns,  which  were  very 
refreshing  to  look  at.  Her  house  was  filled 
with  fine  painting,  statuary,  and  other  works 
of  art.  Wealth  and  good  taste  had  combined 
to  make  it  one  of  the  most  attractive  houses 
in  Boston.  It  was  fortunate  for  Ethel,  stranger 
as  she  was,  that  she  should  have  fallen  in 
with  the  Brewsters,  — true  representative  Bosto- 
nians,  —  thus  enabling  her  to  see  Boston  as  it 
really  is. 

"  You  will  have  callers  to-day,  young  ladies," 


A  T  THE  BRE  WS  TERS\  6  7 

said  Mrs.  Brewster,  a  few  hours  later,  "  for 
everybody  knows  you  are  here,  and  Ethel  may 
expect  her  papa's  old  friend,  Mr.  Apthorpe,  who 
is  very  desirous  of  seeing  her.  I  saw  him 
yesterday,  and  told  him  you  were  to  be  here." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  be  so  glad  to  see  somebody 
who  knew  papa  when  he  was  young  ! "  said 
Ethel.  "  He  is  very  fond  of  Mr.  Apthorpe,  and 
has  told  me  so  much  about  him,  that  I  feel 
as  though  I  knew  him  well.  He  is  not  married, 
I  believe." 

"No,"  answered  Mrs.  Brewster,  "his  widowed 
sister,  Mrs.  Amesbury,  keeps  his  house,  and 
is  a  very  lovely  woman.  They  proposed  taking 
you  away  at  once." 

"Well,  that  was  a  cool  proposition,"  said 
Kitty.  "  I  should  like  to  see  them  do  it.  She 
should  n't  go  away  from  me,  even  if  she  wanted 
to ;  she  belongs  here  !" 

"Don't  be  so  impetuous,  Kitten,"  said  Mrs. 
Brewster,  smiling. 

"She  is  only  'making  believe,'  dear  Mrs. 
Brewster,"  said  Ethel.  "  She  knows  perfectly 
well  that  wild  horses,  even,  could  n't  drag  me 
away  from  this  lovely  home." 


68  THE  WIDOW  WTSE. 

Just  then  a  young  lady  was  ushered  into  their 
presence.  Ethel  felt  that  she  brought  a  breeze 
from  the  outside  world  with  her.  She  greeted 
Kitty  effusively,  and  was  then  introduced  to 
Ethel  as  Kitty's  friend,  Miss  Cleveland. 

Nana  Cleveland  was  a  tall,  stylish  young  lady, 
with  a  brilliant  brunette  complexion  and  hand- 
some dark  eyes,  rather  overdressed,  and  with 
very  decided  opinions,  which  she  seemed  not  at 
all  afraid  to  express.  She  was  bright  and  clever 
of  speech,  but  so  unpleasantly  sharp  at  times 
that  Ethel  felt  like  trying  to  suppress  her. 

"I  came,  Miss  Townsend,"  she  said,  "to  offer 
my  congratulations  for  this  outing.  I  was  for- 
merly a  pupil  at  Madam  Leonard's,  and  not  a 
favorite  pupil,  either.  By  the  way,"  turning  to 
Kitty,  "  who  is  the  favorite,  now  that  the  peer- 
less Julia  is  no  longer  there  ?  " 

"  Lizzie  Highgate,  I  think,"  answered  Kitty. 
"  Do  you  know  her  ?  " 

"  Little  wasp  !  "  said  Miss  Cleveland,  laugh- 
ing ;  "  I  think  I  do.  But  do  you  know  why 
she  should  be  a  favorite  ? " 

"It  cannot  be  on  account  of  her  agreeable 
manners,"  said  Kitty. 


A  T  THE  BRE  WSTERS.  69 

"  I  should  think  not,"  answered  Miss  Cleve- 
land. "She  was  there  my  last  year,  and  I  found 
her  out.  It  is  because  she  tells  madam  every- 
thing that  happens  among  the  girls,  barring 
her  own  tricks." 

"  She  could  n't  be  so  mean ! "  exclaimed 
Ethel,  indignantly. 

"If  you  think  Miss  Highgate  overburdened 
with  a  sense  of  honor,  Miss  Townsend,  it  shows 
that  you  don't  know  her ;  but  you  will  be  likely 
to  become  acquainted  with  her  before  the  year 
is  out,"  said  Miss  Cleveland.  "But  what  are 
you  going  to  do  with  yourselves  ? " 

"They  will  rest  to-day,"  answered  Mrs. 
Brewster,  "and  then  prepare  for  a  quiet  little 
dancing-party  which  I  propose  to  give  for  them 
to-morrow  night." 

"Oh,  mamma!"  broke  in  Kitty;  "you  are 
a  jewel  of  the  first  water.  My  feet  are  fairly 
aching  to  dance ;  and  see !  Ethel's  eyes  are 
dancing  already.  I  really  cannot  keep  still," 
she  went  on,  jumping  up  and  executing  a  little 
pirouette, 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Brewster ! "  said  Miss  Cleveland, 
noticing  that  lady's  look  of  disapproval ;  "  do 


70  THE   WIDOW  WYSE. 

let  the  poor  things  enjoy  their  holiday.  Think 
of  the  tortures  in  store  for  them  on  their 
return." 

"  You  should  say  discipline,  Nana,"  said  Mrs. 
Brewster.  "  I  am  sure  Kitty  shows  a  lack  of  it 
this  morning.  I  am  afraid  that  Madam  Leonard 
is  scarcely  strict  enough." 

There  was  an  indignant  exclamation  from 
Kitty,  while  Nana  said:  — 

"  She  must  have  changed  wonderfully  since 
my  last  year  if  that  is  true.  Kitty  has  my  full 
sympathy.  But  I  want  to  hear  all  about  it," 
turning  to  that  young  lady;  "you  girls  must 
spend  a  day  with  me  before  you  go  back.  Shall 
it  be  Saturday  ?  I  suppose  you  return  to  your 
cells  on  Monday  ? " 

"  I  cannot  spare  them  to  you  this  time, 
Nana,"  said  Mrs.  Brewster,  answering  for  them. 
"  Mr.  Apthorpe  has  begged  for  Ethel  without 
avail,  and  he  has  some  claim  upon  her,  being 
one  of  her  papa's  oldest  friends.'" 

"  Oh  !  do  you  know  that  dear,  delightful  old 
roaring  lion,  Miss  Townsend  ?  He  will  prob- 
ably show  you  his  amiable  side,  though  I 
confess  he  often  shows  the  other  to  me." 


AT  THE  BREWSTERS1.  71 

"  I  saw  him  once,"  answered  Ethel;  "but  I 
remember  very  little  of  him.  Papa  is  very  fond 
of  talking  of  him.  He  is  very  clever,  is  he 
not?" 

"  Clever  does  not  express  it  at  all,"  answered 
Miss  Cleveland.  "  He  is  a  wonderful  man,  my 
dear :  very  talented,  a  great  wit,  and  perfectly 
at  home  with  every  subject,  but  dreadfully  self- 
opinionated.  He  won't  allow  himself  to  be 
contradicted ;  and  when  you  see  him  shake  his 
mane,  look  out  for  a  roar." 

"You  terrify  me,  Miss  Cleveland,"  said 
Ethel ;  "  I  am  not  very  courageous,  and  you 
make  me  dread  to  meet  him." 

"  Oh  !  as  to  that,"  she  answered,  "  I  predict 
that  you  will  be  one  of  the  favored  few,  and 
to  be  in  favor  with  Mr.  Apthorpe  is  to  be 
considered  a  very  lucky  person.  You  will  be 
pronounced  a  beauty,  or  a  very  clever  girl,  and 
perhaps  both,  at  once,  for  Mr.  Apthorpe  never 
notices  a  woman  unless  she  has,  at  least,  one 
of  these  qualifications." 

Ethel  decided  that  she  did  n't  like  Miss 
Cleveland  at  all,  and  Mrs.  Brewster  thought 
it  high  time  to  interfere. 


72  THE    WIDOW  WYSE. 

"My  dear,"  she  said,  turning  to  Nana,  "you 
are  talking  supreme  nonsense.  Mr.  Apthorpe 
certainly  appreciates  a  clever  woman,  and  he 
looks  upon  a  pretty  one  as  he  would  upon  a 
lovely  picture ;  only,  unfortunately,  he  often 
finds  that  the  canvas  possesses  quite  as  much 
soul  as  the  flesh  and  blood." 

"  Oh !  please,  Mrs.  Brewster,"  said  Miss 
Cleveland,  with  mock  humility,  "don't  crush 
me  any  more.  Let  me  up,  and  I  '11  be  good." 

"  Oh,  well,  Miss  Nana,  you  deserved  to  be 
crushed,"  said  Mrs.  Brewster:  "you  were  trying 
to  give  Ethel  a  false  impression." 

"  I  was  only  trying  to  put  her  on  her  guard," 
protested  Miss  Cleveland,  "  so  that  she  need 
not-  walk  directly  into  the  lion's  mouth,  that 
was  all.  It  is  quite  a  pity,  Miss  Townsend," 
she  went  on,  turning  to  Ethel,  "  that  the  charm- 
ing Gerald  is  abroad.  He  is  not  expected  until 
Christmas." 

"And  who  is  'the  charming  Gerald/  Miss 
Cleveland  ?  You  forget  that  I  am  a  stranger," 
said  Ethel. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say,"  said  Miss  Cleve- 
land, holding  up  her  hands  in  astonishment, 


AT  THE  BREWSTERS.  73 

"  that  you  have  never  heard  of  Major  Apthorpe  ? 
Tell  her  about  His  Elegance,  Mrs.  Brewster  — 
words  fail  me." 

Mrs.  Brewster  shook  her  finger  warningly 
at  Nana,  as  she  answered :  — 

"  He  is  Mr.  Apthorpe's  youngest  and 
favorite  brother,  and,  for  a  gentleman  of 
elegant  leisure,  is  the  busiest  man  I  know. 
He  is  in  great  demand  socially,  being  a  ready, 
graceful  speaker,  and  perfectly  au  fait  in  all 
matters  of  etiquette." 

"You  are  to  understand,  Miss  Townsend," 
said  Nana,  in  a  mocking  tone,  "that  Boston 
would  not  be  Boston  without  Major  Apthorpe. 
He  is  the  social  axle  on  which  the  Hub  turns." 

They  all  laughed  at  this  retort,  while  Mrs. 
Brewster  answered,  quietly  :  — 

"  I  am  sure  the  Hub  appreciates  him,  and 
I,  for  one,  am  proud  of  such  a  representative. 
I  know  of  no  family  who  could  have  entertained 
'  our  late  distinguished  visitors '  as  gracefully 
as  the  Apthorpes.  The  major  does  not  spend 
his  time  and  talents  in  mere  amusements,  but 
he  takes  the  keenest  interest  in  those  less 
favored  than  himself." 


74  THE  V/IDOW  WTSE. 

"  Cats  and  dogs,  for  instance,"  interrupted 
Nana. 

"Oh,  no!"  broke  in  Kitty,  who  had  not 
spoken  before  since  the  last  subject  was  intro- 
duced ;  "  they  say  he  hates  cats  and  women : 
women  because  they  are  like  cats,  and  cats 
because  they  are  like  women." 

"Oh,  Kittikin,  Kittikin ! "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Brewster.  "  I  shall  certainly  have  to  send  you 
to  the  nursery."  Then  turning  to  Ethel,  she 
said :  — 

"Major  Apthorpe  is  a  true  gentleman.  He 
is  quite  as  kind  and  thoughtful  in  his  attentions 
to  older  people  as  to  the  most  petted  society 
belle,  and  true  gentleness  is  a  rare  quality 
nowadays ;  and  if  I  needed  any  assistance 
in  my  charitable  work  I  should  apply  to  him 
sooner  than  to  any  other  man." 

"  Oh  !  as  to  that,"  said  Nana,  "  I  don't  deny 
that  he  is  charitable,  in  that  sense  ;  and  I  will 
acknowledge  that  he  is  polite,  and  can  pick  up 
and  restore  a  lady's  fan  with  the  most  perfect 
grace,  and  at  the  same  time  make  her  feel  that 
he  considers  that  it  was  artfully  dropped." 

"Are  you  in  the  habit  of  dropping  your  fan, 


AT  THE  BREWSTERS\  75 

Miss  Nana  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Brewster,  in  a  provok- 
ing tone. 

"  If  I  am  I  was  never  unfortunate  enough 
to  have  it  returned  by  His  Elegance,"  retorted 
Miss  Cleveland.  "  Seriously,  what  I  particularly 
object  to  in  this  thoroughly  blast  young  man  is 
his  manner  of  showing  people  how  gracefully  he 
can  endure  being  bored.  One  perfectly  under- 
stands that  he  has  seen  everything  worth  see- 
ing, heard  everything  worth  hearing,  and  knows 
everything  worth  knowing.  How  I  hate  that 
air  of  fine  disdain  which  has  become  habitual. 
I  know  of  no  more  exasperating  mortal  living 
than  Major  Gerald  Apthorpe.  He  is  perfectly 
insufferable.  m  But,  dear  me !  what  a  waste  of 
time,  when  I  had  so  many  things  to  say !  I 
hope,  Miss  Townsend,  that  you  have  been  suf- 
ficiently warned  against  falling  in  love  with  our 
much-talked-of  young  man  when  you  shall  see 
him.  Snub  him  gently  but  firmly,  my  dear,  and 
who  knows  but  what  he  may  be  piqued  into  fall- 
ing in  love  himself.  He  would  experience  a 
new  sensation,  I  fancy.  Now  I  must  really  go, 
but  I  shall  see  you  again." 

As  she  rose  Mrs.  Brewster  said :  — 


76  THE   WIDOW  WTSE. 

"I  hope  we  shall  see  you  at  our  little  party." 

"  Oh  !  are  you  really  going  to  be  so  good  as 
to  let  me  come  after  abusing  your  paragon  so? " 
asked  Nana. 

"You  don't  deserve  it,"  said  Mrs.  Brewster, 
laughing ;  "  but  I  shall  forgive  you  this  time, 
hoping  for  better  things  in  future." 

Many  others  called  during  the  morning,  and 
after  luncheon  the  two  girls,  with  little  Ger- 
trude, went  for  a  drive.  When  they  returned, 
two  hours  later,  Mrs.  Brewster  met  them  at 
the  door,  saying  to  Ethel,  regretfully :  — 

"I  am  sorry  to  tell  you,  my  dear,  that  you 
have  missed  seeing  Mr.  Apthorpe  and  Mrs. 
Amesbury.  They  seemed  disappointed  in  not 
finding  you ;  but  I  promised  to  take  you  there 
to-morrow  morning." 

"I  am  sorry  to  have  missed  them,"  said 
Ethel ;  "  but  I  cannot  tell  you  how  much  I 
dread  meeting  Mr.  Apthorpe.  I  was  looking 
forward  to  it  with  a  good  deal  of  pleasure : 
but  Miss  Cleveland  has  spoiled  it  all." 

"Oh!  you  mustn't  mind  what  Nana  says," 
answered  Mrs.  Brewster.  "The  Apthorpes  do 
not  appreciate  her  as  she  thinks  she  deserves, 


AT  THE  BREWSTERS'.  77 

and  she  feels  it  keenly.  There  is  a  want  of 
refinement  about  her,  a  brusqueness  of  manner 
and  speech,  that  is  not  pleasing.  She  was  a 
very  precocious  child,  and  she  has  been  flattered 
injudiciously." 

"  I  am  sure  she  seems  to  be  popular," 
said  Kitty. 

"Yes,"  answered  Mrs.  Brewster ;  "she  gen- 
erally has  a  small  court  about  her,  for  men  like 
to  hear  her  talk  :  but  they  are  a  little  afraid  of 
her  sharp  speeches.  She  is  too  audacious." 

"  I  cannot  understand  why  she  should  be," 
said  Kitty,  "for  Mrs.  Cleveland  is  gentleness 
itself." 

"Yes,"  said  her  mamma;  "and  she  is  an 
invalid,  too,  you  know ;  but  such  traces  of  poor 
blood  can  generally  be  accounted  for,  if  one 
goes  back  far  enough." 

"  Mamma  is  a  thorough  aristocrat,  you  see," 
said  Kitty,  laughing,  as  the  two  girls  went 
upstairs  to  lay  aside  their  wraps  ;  "  but  she  has 
such  a  dear,  kind,  charitable  heart  that  very 
few  people  suspect  it." 

"Oh,  Kitty,"  said  Ethel,  the  next  morning, 
as  she  was  dressing  for  the  much-dreaded  visit, 


7 8  THE    WIDOW  WTSE. 

"  do  tell  me  what  to  wear.  I  feel  as  though  I 
were  going  to  be  put  on  exhibition." 

"Go  just  as  you  are!  Miss  Flora  McFlimsy. 
Why  do  you  ask  me  ?  you  are  always  lovely." 

"Goto!  flatterer,"  answered  Ethel.  "It  is 
of  no  earthly  use  to  ask  you  :  you  are  preju- 
diced. I  '11  wear  the  plainest  thing  I  have." 

Ethel  knew  how  to  dress.  Her  toilettes 
were  always  harmonious,  and  when  she  pre- 
sented herself  before  Mrs.  Brewster,  as  she 
laughingly  said,  "  for  criticism,"  that  lady  was 
delighted.  She  wore  a  black  velvet  costume, 
which  fitted  her  graceful  form  perfectly,  and  a 
Gainsborough  hat,  which  set  off  her  lovely  face 
and  brought  out  its  beauty.  The  only  color 
about  her  was  a  cluster  of  yellow  roses  fastened 
below  the  throat,  a  little  to  the  left. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Brewster,  who  felt 
that  she  needed  encouragement,  "  you  are 
bewitching.  You  have  set  out  to  captivate 
Richard  Apthorpe  and  you  will  do  it.  I  am 
sure  of  it." 

"  Oh  !  Mrs.  Brewster,"  said  Ethel,  well 
pleased,  "  do  you  really  think  I  look  well  ?  I  am 
so  anxious  to  do  my  papa's  daughter  justice." 


AT  THE  BREWSTEKS?.  79 

"  Never  fear  for  your  papa's  daughter,  my 
dear  :  I  am  very  proud  of  her." 

"  MY  DEAR  PAPA,  —  This  is  Sunday,  the  last 
day  of  my  visit  at  the  Brewsters',  which  has 
been  thoroughly  delightful.  On  Friday  even- 
ing Mrs.  Brewster  gave  a  small  dancing-party. 
She  was  kind  enough  to  ask  Jack  Fenton  on 
my  account,  and  was  so  pleased  with  him 
that  she  invited  him  to  come  whenever  he 
liked.  Was  not  that  good  of  her  ?  But  no  one 
could  help  liking  Jack.  He  told  me  that  he 
was  going  into  the  country  to  spend  Sunday 
with  one  of  his  chums.  So  I  did  not  see  him 
again.  I  am  very  proud  of  Jack.  His  man- 
ners are  perfect  and  he  dances  divinely.  I 
could  see  that  the  young  ladies  were  quite  im- 
pressed by  him,  and  it  is  not  to  be  wondered 
at.  He  seemed  greatly  superior  to  the  other 
young  men  present,  some  of  whom  were  very 
young.  They  all  danced  well,  but  they  did  not 
seem  to  have  any  ideas,  or  if  they  did,  they  did 
not  know  how  to  express  them.  They  were  all 
alike  in  this  respect.  There  was  absolutely  no 
conversation,  except  between  Jack  and  Miss 


8O  THE   WIDOW  WTSB. 

Nana  Cleveland.  This  young  lady  was  a  for- 
mer pupil  of  Madam  Leonard's,  and  is  a  friend 
of  Kitty's.  She  is  very  bright  and  amusing, 
and,  while  I  do  not  wholly  admire  her,  I  like 
to  hear  her  talk. 

"  We  see  now  the  blessed  result  of  what 
Kitty  calls  our  discipline.  We  enjoy  everything 
with  so  much  more  zest  than  we  otherwise 
could.  I  have  not  had  a  moment's  time  to 
write  before  since  I  came,  but  I  have  saved  up 
everything  until  now,  and  shall  tell  you  of  all 
our  good  times.  (I  am  afraid  I  am  getting 
Yankeefied.) 

"  Why !  papa,  dear,  we  have  been  almost 
beside  ourselves  with  happiness.  And  do  you 
know  what  a  dear,  delightful  place  Boston  is  ? 
Of  course,  you  do,  in  a  degree,  but  it  has 
changed  since  you  knew  it.  How  many  times 
I  have  wished  you  were  here  since  I  came  for 
this  little  visit.  Such  lovely  drives  !  and  such 
charming  people  !  I  called  at  Mr.  Apthorpe's 
on  Friday.  I  started  with  fear  and  trembling, 
and  came  away  enchanted.  What  a  thoroughly 
charming  man  he  is  !  He  said  a  great  many 
pleasant  things  of  you.  He  noticed  that  I 


A  T  THE  BRE  WSTERS\  8  1 

have  your  eyes  and  the  same  firm  mouth.  You 
always  said  that  I  had  a  wilful  mouth,  so  it 
seems  that  the  same  mouth  can  be  firm  in 
one  person  and  wilful  in  another.  How  is 
that  ?  I  should  like  a  little  explanation,  if  you 
please.  Mrs.  Amesbury  was  very  sweet  and 
cordial,  and  invited  me  to  spend  the  Christmas 
holidays  with  them. 

" '  Of  course  she  will ! '  said  Mr.  Apthorpe. 
'  I  should  like  to  know  who  has  a  better  right 
to  Ned  Townsend's  daughter  than  I.'  '  You  will 
find  it  hard  to  make  your  peace  with  Kitty  if 
you  take  Ethel  from  us,'  said  Mrs.  Brewster. 
'You  must  teach  Miss  Kitty  not  to  be  selfish,' 
said  Mr.  Apthorpe. 

"They  are  the  best  of  friends,  and  Mrs. 
Brewster  admires  him  immensely.  Indeed,  no 
one  could  help  it.  You  will  be  glad  to  know 
that  I  have  promised  them  a  large  part  of  the 
Christmas  holidays.  The  only  drawback  to  my 
delightful  anticipations  is  the  fact  that  Major 
Apthorpe  will  be  here.  Why  have  you  not 
told  me  of  the  existence  of  this  important 
gentleman.  So  important,  first  of  all  to  him- 
self, according  to  Miss  Cleveland,  so  important 


82  THE    WIDOW    WTSE. 

to  his  friends,  and  so  important  to  Boston. 
Mrs.  Amesbury  talked  of  him  constantly.  It 
was  '  Gerald,  Gerald,'  during  my  entire  call, 
with  now  and  then  a  'Jed'  from  Mr.  Apthorpe. 
Evidently  they  have  tried  to  spoil  him,  and 
have  succeeded  admirably,  but  I  hate  conceited 
people,  and  I  am  wicked  enough  to  hope  that 
something  will  happen  to  keep  him  on  the 
other  side  until  after  the  holidays. 

"  Papa,  dear,  if  you  should,  by  any  means,  get 
hold  of  him,  on  no  account  let  him  go.  Now, 
am  I  not  showing  a  very  unamiable  disposition 
when  everybody  is  so  kind  to  me  ?  You  must 
be  ashamed  of  me,  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  am 
ashamed  of  myself.  All  the  same,  I  hope  he 
will  not  come,  notwithstanding  Kitty  privately 
assures  me  that  he  is  really  uncommonly  nice. 

"  I  want  you  to  know  Kitty's  sister,  Mrs. 
Onslow.  She  is  the  loveliest  woman  I  ever 
saw,  but  she  is  very  delicate  in  health.  Kitty 
and  I  are  to  visit  her  in  the  summer.  Mr. 
Onslow  is  very  proud  of  his  wife,  but  his  mind 
is  unreasonably  full  of  business.  He  seems 
always  in  a  hurry.  I  look  upon  him  in  amaze- 
ment. He  seems  to  have  absolutely  no 


AT  THE  BREWSTERS\  83 

leisure,  and  I  find  myself  wondering  how  long 
he  will  live  in  this  way.  All  this  seems  very 
strange  to  me.  I  have  been  so  accustomed 
to  men  of  leisure,  all  my  life,  that  I  cannot 
understand  how  any  man  can  live  in  the  midst 
of  excitement  all  the  time,  and  keep  his  mental 
balance  ;  but  nobody  else  seems  to  mind  it. 

"  Mr.  Brewster  is  a  busy  man,  too,  but  as 
he  leaves  business  behind  him  when  he  comes 
home,  he  is  able  to  rest.  I  think  Mr.  Onslow 
must  carry  on  business  even  in  his  sleep. 

"  To-morrow  we  go  back  to  Madam  Leonard's, 
but  I  go  with  the  lightest  possible  heart,  having 
such  delightful  anticipations.  I  shall  live  upon 
them  until  they  are  realized. 

"  We  went  to  St.  Paul's  this  morning.  The 
rector  preached  a  very  eloquent  sermon ;  I 
am  sure  you  would  have  appreciated  it.  He 
is  so  much  in  earnest  himself  that  it  is  impossi- 
ble that  his  hearers  should  not  be  in  earnest, 
too.  No  one  could  be  drowsy  under  his  preach- 
ing. And  it  is  such  a  fine  place  in  which 
to  take  a  nap,  too !  Such  a  lovely,  curious 
old  church,  with  high  boxes  for  pews.  I  am 
ashamed  to  say  that  I  was  very  much  amused, 


84  THE  WIDOW  WTSE. 

during  the  service,  to  watch  a  little  old  lady 
in  front  of  me,  whose  head  I  could  scarcely 
see  when  she  was  sitting.  It  was  so  comical 
to  see  her  pop  up  like  a  Jack-in-the-box,  every 
little  while,  but  the  doctor's  voice  was  so 
impressive  that  I  felt  rebuked  and  very  soon 
ceased  to  think  of  my  surroundings.  The 
rector  impresses  me  as  a  man  to  be  wholly 
loved  for  his  goodness  and  wholly  admired 
for  his  eloquence. 

"Papa,  dear,  why  do  you  not  write  a  book  ? 
I  fancied  myself  with  you  while  reading  your 
last  letter.  Your  descriptions  are  so  charm- 
ingly vivid  that  it  seems  almost  wicked  not 
to  allow  the  world  to  enjoy  them.  I  am  going 
to  whisper  a  secret.  It  is  my  pet  ambition  to 
write  a  book.  After  I  get  through  with  my 
studies  I  mean  to  go  away  somewhere  and  shut 
myself  up,  and  write  a  wonderful  book  about 
the  people  I  have  met.  I  shall  call  it  '  Stories 
of  Peculiar  People.'  It  will  be  a  strange  book, 
unlike  any  other,  if  I  write  it  truthfully,  as 
I  mean  to.  Oh,  you  need  not  smile,  for  I 
certainly  mean  to  do  it. 

"I  must  not  forget  to  tell  you  that  I  visited 


AT  THE  BREWSTER&.  85 

Thatcher  (he  is  the  Worth  of  Boston),  on 
Friday,  and  had  a  glimpse  of  Paris.  You  have 
thought  me  too  economical,  but  when  I  tell  you 
what  I  am  to  pay  for  one  of  Thatcher's  crea- 
tions, the  loveliest  of  walking-costumes,  you 
will  perhaps  change  your  mind.  Kitty  says 
one  glance  of  his  artistic  eye,  which  takes  in 
your  general  style,  costs  fifty  dollars  —  but  that 
is  a  mere  trifle.  Such  things  as  linings,  facings, 
silk,  and  twist,  the  magnificent  Thatcher  takes 
no  note  of,  but  the  bill  for  the  completed 
costume  makes  you  think  you  have  a  double 
vision.  But  his  gowns  are  marvelous,  as  to  fit 
and  style,  and  leave  nothing  to  be  desired.  I 
am  to  have  an  evening-dress  of  pale  yellow, 
for  little  dancing-parties  such  as  Mrs.  Brewster 
often  gives.  Kitty  is  to  have  a  pink  one.  And, 
papa,  dear,  please  send  me  quantities  of  the 
palest  amber  you  can  find  for  my  neck,  arms, 
and  dear  little  ears,  and  I  will  kiss  you  a 
thousand  times.  Your  loving 

"TEDDY." 

"  P.  S.  —  Kitty  came  in  and  forced  me  to 
leave  off  before  I  had  quite  finished,  and  I 
came  back  to  say  that  we  are  going  to  be  good. 


86  THE   WIDOW   WTSE. 

Oh  !  very  good,  indeed,  Kitty  and  I,  better 
even  than  Miss  Edith  Preble,  who  is  always 
good  and  proper.  And,  papa,  I  want  to  give 
you  just  the  tiniest  bit  of  a  hint.  While  you 
are  buying  my  amber,  I  want  you  to  remember 
that  pink  is  very  becoming  to  Kitty,  and  that, 
as  I  told  you,  she  is  to  have  a  pink  gown,  and  I 
am  sure  that  a  lovely  set  of  pale  pink  coral 
would  be  exactly  what  would  please  her  most. 

"TED." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    WIDOW   WYSE. 

PRETTY,  fair  Mrs.  Houlton  sat  in  her  sun- 
shiny morning-room,  industriously  darning  one 
of  her  own  well-worn  stockings.  By  her  side, 
upon  the  floor,  was  a  convenient  basket, 
trimmed  with  wine-colored  velvet  handsomely 
embroidered.  Upon  the  table  near  were  the 
most  popular  magazines,  the  latest  novel,  a  few 
books  celebrated  for  their  intellectual  worth, 
and  a  copy  of  Browning's  poems,  all  of  which, 
if  we  except  the  first-mentioned  books,  entirely 
above  the  little  woman's  comprehension.  But, 
as  she  had  often  said  to  her  daughter,  "  One 
must  be  in  the  fashion,  my  dear,"  and  it  was 
beginning  to  be  the  fashion,  even  in  Alliance, 
to  have  literary  tastes  and  aspirations. 

Being  the  widow  of  the  famous  (in  his  little 
town)  Judge  Houlton,  she  felt  that  considerable 
homage  was  due  her,  consequently  she  carried 
herself  very  proudly  before  her  less  fortunate 
neighbors;  but,  unfortunately  for  her  pride, 


88  THE  WIDOW  WTSE. 

she  was  left  with  a  very  small  income,  nobody 
knew  how  small,  for  she  had  the  "faculty,"  as 
they  say  in  New  England,  of  making  a  little  go 
a  great  way.  She  was  smiling  softly  to  herself, 
for  she  was  thinking  that  in  a  few  weeks  her 
clever  daughter,  whom  she  had  not  seen  in  two 
years,  would  be  with  her,  and  would  bring  her 
at  least  one  new  gown  —  of  which  she  was 
sadly  in  need  —  and  the  latest  Paris  fashions. 
A  letter  to  that  effect  had  reached  her  that 
morning,  much  to  her  joy,  for  she  had  not 
expected  her  for  some  months. 

Mrs.  Houlton  was  carefully  and  youthfully 
dressed,  from  the  little  square  of  crepe  lisse 
which  did  duty  as  a  widow's  cap,  to  the  jet 
buckles  on  her  slippers  ;  and  with  her  crimped 
hair  brought  low  on  her  white  forehead,  was  still 
young  looking.  She  had  been  no  companion 
for  her  husband.  She  was  but  a  pet  and  play- 
thing in  their  early  married  life ;  but  she 
disappointed  him  sorely,  and  after  a  time  she 
used  to  say  to  her  children,  "  He  cares  for 
nothing  but  his  books ;  we  must  not  disturb 
him,"  and  very  considerately  left  him  alone ; 
and  when  at  last  he  died,  she  took  what  her 


THE   WIDOW   WTSE,  89 

daughter  called  a  sensible  and  philosophic  view 
of  the  matter.  She  knew  that  grief  and  tears 
inevitably  brought  dimness  to  the  eyes  and 
wrinkles  to  the  forehead ;  so,  after  six  month's 
retirement  behind  folds  upon  folds  of  crepe, 
with  her  natural  gayety  a  little  subdued,  and 
her  sombreness  lightened  by  bands  of  jet,  she 
showed  herself  to  the  world,  a  beautiful  spirit 
of  resignation. 

There  was  one  peculiarity  about  this  mother 
and  daughter  that  I  must  speak  of  here.  They 
never  allowed  themselves  to  be  surprised. 
The  doorbell,  for  instance,  was  hung  so  that 
it  could  be  heard  throughout  the  house.  She 
had  received  long  letters  from  her  beloved 
Julia  (and  her  powers  of  invention  were 
marvelous),  and  yet  no  one  came.  She  was 
longing  to  tell  some  gossiping  neighbor  of 
the  social  successes  of  her  favorite  daughter,  — 
Annie,  the  elder,  had  married  a  poor  store- 
keeper against  her  mamma's  judgment,  and 
so  didn't  signify, — when  she  heard  the  wel- 
come sound  of  the  doorbell. 

Without  the  slightest  sign  of  disturbance 
or  flutter,  Mrs.  Houlton  quietly  dropped  the 


QO  THE   WIDOW  WYSE. 

stocking  she  had  been  darning  into  the  con- 
venient basket,  and  pushed  it  with  her  foot 
farther  under  the  table,  while  from  its  dainty 
receptacle  on  the  table  she  took  a  delicate 
piece  of  embroidery,  which  she  carelessly 
dropped  in  her  lap.  Then  she  reached  for  the 
volume  of  Browning,  and  she  was  prepared  for 
anybody. 

"Dear  Mrs.  Houlton  ! "  safd  her  visitor,  the 
wife  of  one  of  her  late  husband's  young  friends, 
as  she  fluttered  in,  "  how  charmingly  cool  and 
comfortable  you  look !  I  have  been  in  a  per- 
fect fever  all  the  morning ;  and  what  with  poor 
servants  and  fretful  children,  I  had  almost  made 
up  my  mind  that  life  was  not  worth  living, 
when  I  thought  of  you.  I  knew  I  should  find 
you  just  as  you  are,  with  your  book  and 
embroidery.  How  you  ever  find  time  for  so 
much  reading  and  fancy-work  I  cannot  under- 
stand. And  everything  seems  to  run  so 
smoothly  in  your  house,  too.  Your  servants 
are  so  perfectly  trained,  and  you  never  seem 
to  be  in  a  flutter.  Do  tell  me  how  it  is  done. 
I  am  in  despair." 

Mrs.    Houlton   had,    in    anticipation    of    her 


THE    WIDOW    WTSE.  91 

daughter's  return,  engaged  old  Hannah's  niece, 
so  she  could  truthfully  say  "my  servants," 
which  she  did  with  the  smile  of  a  superior. 

"  I  require  my  servants  to  do  their  duty. 
You  see,  my  dear,  I  don't  expect  anything  else, 
and  they  know  it.  The  only  way  to  get  along 
comfortably  is  to  let  your  servants  understand, 
to  begin  with,  that  you  are  mistress  of  your 
own  house." 

The  truth  is,  Mrs.  Houlton  had  had  the  same 
old  servant  for  years,  who  ruled  the  household 
with  a  rod  of  iron.  Her  mistress  would  not 
have  dared  to  say  her  soul  was  her  own  even, 
much  less  her  kitchen.  She  was  one  of  those 
rare  old  creatures  who,  dreading  change,  accept 
low  wages  for  a  home,  and  take  a  personal 
interest  in  the  family  they  serve.  She  was 
fond  of  Mrs.  Houlton,  in  her  peculiar  way,  and 
proud  of  Miss  Julia,  as  she  still  called  her ;  but 
when  she  said,  after  a  timid  suggestion  from 
her  mistress,  "La!  Mrs.  Houlton,  you  don't 
want  that,"  it  amounted  to  a  command. 

"  I  know  you  are  right,"  answered  her  guest, 
"but  I  give  up  to  my  servants,  and  I  cannot 
help  it.  They  rule  me  instead  of  my  ruling 
them." 


92  THE   WIDOW   WTSE. 

"  You  must  not  let  them,  my  dear ;  you  must 
assert  yourself,"  said  Mrs.  Houlton. 

"  Ah  !  it  is  easy  for  you  to  do  it,  but  not 
for  me,"  said  poor  Mrs.  Adams,  with  a  sigh. 
Then,  spying  the  basket  under  the  table,  she 
exclaimed  :  — 

"  Oh  !  what  lovely  embroidery  !  Did  you 
do  it  ? " 

"Do  you  like  it?"  said  Mrs.  Houlton,  care- 
lessly; "it  is  rather  pretty,  I  think."  She 
did  not  explain  that  it  was  a  foreign  production, 
sent  by  her  daughter.  It  was  not  necessary. 
But  she  went  on  to  say:  — 

"  I  am  very  fond  of  embroidery.  It  is  a 
recreation.  I  do  a  little  every  day,  because  I 
enjoy  it ;  and  if  I  did  not  try  to  improve  my 
mind  a  little  every  day,  also,  I  should  consider 
the  day  misspent,"  looking  affectionately  at  the 
copy  of  Browning  in  her  hand. 

"And  you  read  Browning,  too?"  said  little 
Mrs.  Adams.  "I  never  think  of  touching  his 
poems;  they  are  wholly  incomprehensible." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Houlton, 
with  a  pitying  smile.  "  I  am  afraid  you  do  not 
like  real  poetry,  my  dear." 


THE   WIDOW  WTSE. 


93 


"  I  don't  like  anything  I  don't  understand," 
said  Mrs.  Adams,  candidly.  "  But,  dear  Mrs. 
Houlton,  you  are  expecting  your  charming 
daughter  soon,  I  hear.  How  happy  you  must 
be,  and  proud,  too !  Everybody  is  on  the  tiptoe 
of  expectation.  She  is  such  a  stylish  creature, 
she  will  be  more  admired  than  ever.  Such  an 
acquisition  as  she  will  be !  I  do  hope  she 
comes  to  stay  !  " 

"I  am  her  mother,"  said  Mrs.  Houlton,  with 
a  satisfied  smile,  "  and  may  be  excused  for 
taking  pleasure  in  hearing  her  praises.  Julia 
has  pleasing  manners  and  is  generally  a  success 
wherever  she  goes.  She  was  always  a  favorite 
among  the  girls,  and  I  hear  from  others :  she 
herself  is  very  reticent  :  that  she  is  very  much 
admired  abroad."  Then  followed  an  interesting 
account  of  dear  Julia's  social  successes,  and 
a  list  of  her  admirers. 

"We  must  try  and  make  it  pleasant  for  her," 
said  Mrs.  Houlton,  artfully,  as  her  visitor  rose 
to  go,  "for  this  little  place  must  seem  very  dull 
to  her  under  any  circumstances." 

And  Mrs.  Adams  went  home  impressed 
with  the  idea  that  she  and  her  friends  must 


94  THE    WIDOW  WTSE. 

exert  themselves  to  the  utmost  to  "  make  it 
pleasant  "  for  Julia  Wyse,  when  she  should  do 
her  native  place  the  honor  of  visiting  it  again. 

The  next  day  toward  evening,  as  Mrs.  Houl- 
ton  was  caressing  the  volume  of  Browning, 
which  she  never  read,  there  was  a  bustle  out- 
side, a  hasty  ring  mingled  with  a  barking  of 
dogs,  and  a  bewildering  mixture  of  French  and 
English.  Mrs.  Houlton  glanced  hastily  out  of 
the  window.  There  stood  a  smart  French 
maid  with  two  dogs,  one  in  her  arms,  and 
the  other  dragging  by  a  ribbon,  which  she 
was  alternately  scolding  and  petting.  In 
another  moment  she  was  clasping  her  beloved 
Julia  in  her  arms.  It  was  such  a  great  sur- 
prise, for  she  had  not  expected  her  for  three 
weeks  at  least,  that  she  almost  fainted  from 
excitement. 

"You  dear,  blessed,  little  mamma,"  ex- 
claimed her  daughter,  "  how  white  you  are  ! 
So  you  are  really  glad  to  see  me  ?  Ninette," 
turning  to  her  maid,  "  bring  a  little  wine." 

Ninette  opened  a  small  traveling-bag  and 
produced  the  wine,  which  quite  revived  Madam 
Houlton. 


THE    WIDOW    WTSE.  95 

"Now,  mamma,"  said  the  affectionate 
daughter,  "if  you  will  allow  me  to  go  to  my 
room  for  a  while,  —  I  see  the  luggage  has  fol- 
lowed us  closely,  —  I  shall  give  you  as  much  of 
my  society  as  you  will  wish,  after  I  have  rested 
a  little." 

"  Poor  dear  !  "  said  Mrs.  Houlton,  "you  must 
be  dreadfully  fatigued,  although  I  must  say  I 
never  saw  you  looking  better." 

"  Oh !  as  to  that,"  said  Mrs.  Wyse,  "  you 
know  that  I  never  allow  myself  to  get  very 
tired.  We  had  a  quick  passage,  and  I  was  not 
seasick ;  besides  I  stayed  a  week  in  New  York. 
I  like  to  present  myself  to  my  friends  in  the 
best  possible  light." 

"For  my  part,"  answered  her  partial  mamma, 
"I  can  say  that  you  are  wonderfully  improved, 
my  dear,  and  I  am  glad  you  rested  on  the  way, 
although  if  I  had  known  you  were  so  near  I 
should  hardly  have  remained  contented  here." 

"All  of  which  shows  my  wisdom  in  not 
letting  you  know,"  said  her  daughter  as  she 
left  the  room. 

For  the  next  few  days  Mrs.  Wyse's  tongue 
was  busy  with  that  inexhaustible  subject,  her- 


g6  THE   WIDOW  WTSE. 

self,  before  a  delighted  audience  of  one,  her 
mamma.  Occasionally  her  commonplace  sister, 
Mrs.  Fielding,  would  steal  away  from  her 
numerous  family  cares  to  listen  with  un- 
bounded admiration,  for  an  hour,  to  the  vivid 
pictures  of  her  much-admired  sister's  foreign 
life.  As  she  represented  it,  her  traveling  was 
a  triumphal  march,  and  she  received  a  con- 
stant ovation  wherever  she  stopped.  "  I  don't 
envy  you,"  said  poor  Annie  Fielding ;  "  I  am 
glad  to  have  you  enjoy  so  much,  but  I  do  some- 
times wish  that  I  could  get  away  for  a  little 
rest  and  recreation." 

"  Oh !  Annie,"  said  Mrs.  Wyse,  reproach- 
fully, "  how  can  you  want  to  leave  those  dear 
little  children  ?  If  I  had  a  little  girl  like  your 
Julia,"  putting  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes, 
"  I  should  be  perfectly  happy  ;  I  should  never 
want  to  leave  her." 

"  I  suppose  I  am  wicked,"  said  poor,  dragged- 
out  Annie,  "  but  it  is  only  when  I  get  very 
tired  that  I  feel  so." 

"Poor  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Wyse,  with  a  sudden 
feeling  of  pity  at  Annie's  forlorn  appearance, 
"you  do  look  worn  out,  but,  for  mercy's  sake! 


THE   WIDOW    WTSE.  97 

don't  get  low-spirited.  It  would  make  me  ill  at 
once  to  see  you  so.  Come  upstairs  and  see 
what  I  have  for  that  dear,  little  rosebud,  my 
namesake." 

And  Annie  was  cheered  by  numerous  little 
presents  for  herself  and  children,  and  she  went 
home,  saying  to  herself  :  "  What  a  tender  heart 
Julia  has !  She  cannot  bear  to  even  hear  of 
other  peoples'  woes,  and  she  is  so  generous, 
too.  To  be  sure,  she  is  rich,  but  the  rich 
people  are  not  always  generous,  like  Julia." 

"How  easy  it  is  to  make  her  happy,"  said 
Mrs.  Wyse  to  her  mother  as  she  went  out. 
"And  we  ought  to  do  something  for  her,  for 
she  does  have  a  hard  time.  I  should  die  in  a 
week  if  I  had  to  live  as  she  does,  with  those 
dreadful  children  always  clamoring  for  some- 
thing." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  you  could  n't  bear  it,  of 
course,"  said  her  mother ;  "  but  she  is  differ- 
ently constituted.  She  is  quite  satisfied,  as  a 
general  thing,  and  if  she  is  not,  it  is  her  own 
fault.  She  chose  to  marry  a  poor  man  against 
my  judgment,  as  you  well  know,  and  she  must 
suffer  the  consequences.  I  did  not  expect  her 


98  THE    WIDOW  WTSE. 

to  make  a  brilliant  match,  but  there  was  Mr. 
Tremaine"  — 

"  Oh,  mamma,"  said  Julia,  "  I  don't  blame 
her  for  refusing  him.  He  was  so  old  and  so 
intensely  disagreeable  "  — 

"But  he  is  as  rich  as  a  Jew,"  said  her 
mother. 

"And  a  horrid  old  screw,  as  Annie  said  at 
the  time,  I  remember,"  said  Mrs.  Wyse. 

"To  add  another  rhyme,  it  is  very,  very 
true,"  said  Mrs.  Houlton,  laughing;  "but  we 
will  change  the  subject,  if  you  please :  it  is 
getting  disagreeable." 

"Very  well,"  said  her  daughter,  "  I  am  more 
than  willing." 

They  perfectly  understood  one  another,  this 
clever  daughter  of  a  not  over-scrupulous 
mother.  But  the  daughter  was,  by  far,  the 
more  accomplished  woman  of  the  world,  and 
Mrs.  Houlton,  recognizing  this  fact,  yielded 
both  admiration  and  will. 

"I  am  dying  to  know  why  you  came  home 
earlier  than  you  intended,"  said  Mrs.  Houlton, 
a  day  or  two  after  this;  "but  knowing  that 
you  clo  not  like  to  be  questioned,  I  have  waited 
for  you  to  tell  me." 


THE   WIDOW   WTSE. 


99 


"My  dear  mamma,"  answered  her  daughter, 
"you  taught  me  early  to  find  out  other 
peoples'  business,  but  to  guard  jealously  my 
own,  and  I  have  forgotten  neither  precept  nor 
example.  I  remember,  when  I  was  very  young, 
I  used  to  listen  with  wonder  and  amazement  to 
your  skilful  manner  of  asking  questions,  and 
your  guarded  way  of  answering  them.  I  am 
an  apt  pupil  of  a  very  clever  teacher." 

"But  I  am  your  mother,  Julia,"  said  Mrs. 
Houlton,  reproachfully,  "and  you  should  have 
no  secrets  from  me.  I  am  sure  I  have  always 
been  devoted  to  your  interests." 

"Very  true,  mamma,"  answered  Mrs.  Wyse, 
"and  when  my  plans  are  fully  matured  you 
shall  know  them,  for  I  shall  want  your  assist- 
ance. Until  then  you  must  be  patient.  I  can 
only  tell  you  now  that  I  go  to  Boston  in  two 
weeks  for  a  short  visit  to  Nana  Cleveland,  and 
before  I  come  back  I  shall  call  upon  that  dear 
old  humbug,  Madam  Leonard." 

"  But,  Julia,  you  are  surely  not  going  to  leave 
me  again  so  soon!"  cried  her  mother;  "and  I 
thought  you  hated  Miss  Cleveland." 

"  Softly,    dear    mamma,"    said    Mrs.    Wyse, 


1 00  THE   WID  O  W  WTSE, 

laughing ;  "  I  love  everybody,  even  Nana  Cleve- 
land, when  she  can  be  useful  to  me.  You 
spoke  of  a  reception.  I  would  suggest  that  you 
fix  upon  next  Tuesday  evening.  It  will  remind 
people  of  their  duty  to  me  in  this  respect.  I 
do  not  expect  to  be  gone  long,  and  I  should  die 
of  ennui  in  this  poky  old  place,  without  some 
excitement." 

"  Frivolous,  as  you  used  to  be,"  said  Mrs. 
Houlton,  "but  undoubtedly  clever." 

"I  quite  agree  with  you,  although  some 
people  have  been  uncomplimentary  enough 
to  call  it  shrewdness,  and  you  might  also  say 
successful.  They  say  that  '  nothing  succeeds 
like  success,'  and  I  have  made  it  a  point  never 
to  fail.  It  will  please  you,  I  am  sure,  to  know 
that  I  am  indebted  to  you  for  an  expression 
that  I  have  found  wonderfully  taking.  It  is 
this  :  '  How  perfectly  lovely  ! '  I  remember  dis- 
tinctly that  you  said,  as  I  was  leaving  for  my 
first  little  party,  now  Julia  be  sure  you  remem- 
ber to  say,  when  you  come  away,  '  I  have  had 
^perfectly  lovely  time.'  It  will  be  very  impolite 
if  you  do  not,  and  if  they  show  you  anything 
to  please  you,  say,  '  Oh !  how  perfectly  lovely! 


THE    WIDOW  WTSE.  IOI 

I  have  used  that  expression,  as  Annie's  little 
Julia  would  say,  four  hundred  million  times.  It 
never  fails  to  please.  Oh  !  yes,  flattery  costs 
nothing  and  is  pleasing  to  everybody." 

"  And  yet  I  have  heard  people  say  that  they 
were  proof  against  it,"  said  Mrs.  Houlton. 

"And  they  are  the  very  people  that  are 
most  susceptible  of  it,"  answered  her  daughter. 
"There  is  not  a  man  in  the  world,"  she  went 
on,  with  a  little  more  than  her  usual  energy, 
"who  has  not  some  weak  point  to  assail,  that 
flattery  cannot  reach,  and  I  believe  that  intel- 
lectual men  are  weakest  of  all  in  this  respect. 
They  generally  marry  simpletons  who  are 
willing  to  offer  perpetual  adoration.  Their 
vanity  is  satisfied  with  nothing  else.  But  to 
go  back  to  your  first  remark,  I  am  going  to 
give  you  a  hint,  a  bare  hint,"  she  repeated, 
seeing  that  her  mother  had  started  up  eagerly. 
"  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  young  man  in 
Germany,  who  interested  me  a  good  deal,  and 
whom,  I  flatter  myself,  I  interested  still  more. 
He  intends  leaving  in  the  spring  for  America 
with  his  friend,  a  young  American,  who  went 
to  Germany  to  finish  his  studies.  A  cousin,  by 


102  THE   WIDOW  WTSE. 

the  way,  of  Miss  Cleveland,  of  Boston.  I  had 
planned  to  leave  about  that  time,  as  you  know. 
I  preferred  to  be  followed,  rather  than  follow. 
That  is  all." 

"But,  Julia" —  began  Mrs.  Houlton. 

"  Now,  mamma,"  said  her  daughter,  coldly,  "  I 
said  you  were  to  have  a  hint,  merely.  You 
positively  must  not  ask  me  any  questions.  I 
should  not  have  spoken  of  the  matter  at  all, 
only  I  want  this  young  man  to  be  cordially 
received,  should  he  come  here." 

"You  are  the  most  provoking  person  living," 
said  poor  Mrs.  Houlton,  who  was  in  an  agony 
of  curiosity. 

"I  know  it,  mamma,"  answered  Mrs.  Wyse, 
"and  I  sympathize  with  you  heartily,  but," 
reaching  for  the  bell-rope,  "  I  cannot  help 
you." 

"Madame?"  said  the  soft  voice  of  Ninette, 
but  soft  as  it  was,  it  startled  Mrs.  Houlton, 
for  she  had  not  heard  the  still  softer  step  of 
her  daughter's  invaluable  French  maid. 

"Fetch  Bijou  and  Pet,"  said  her  mistress. 
"I  have  not  seen  them  to-day." 

"  Yes,  madame,"  said  Ninette,  disappearing. 


THE   WIDOW  WTSE.  103 

"  She  must  have  been  near  the  door,  to  have 
answered  so  soon,"  said  Mrs.  Houlton,  suspi- 
ciously. 

"Oh,  I  dare  say  she  has  been  listening,"  said 
Mrs.  Wyse,  carelessly.  "  It  is  a  way  these 
maids  have." 

"  You  should  not  permit  it,"  said  Mrs  Houl- 
ton. "  It  is  very  foolish  of  you." 

Mrs.  Wyse  shrugged  her  pretty  shoulders, 
but  did  not  answer. 

"  See,  mamma !  "  she  said,  a  moment  later, 
as  she  fondled  the  pretty  creatures,  which 
seemed  overjoyed  to  see  her.  "Kiss  me, 
Bijou.  Shake  hands,  Pet.  Ninette,  you  must 
show  off  their  accomplishments  to  mamma. 
They  know  a  good  deal  more  than  a  good 
many  human  beings." 

They  went  through  a  good  many  clever 
tricks,  greatly  to  the  amusement  of  the  two 
ladies. 

"Now  you  may  take  them  out  for  a  little 
exercise,  Ninette,"  said  her  mistress;  "but 
first  come  to  me,  you  little  troublesome  com- 
forts, and  say  good-by." 

They  gave  two  soft,  quick  barks,  in  answer, 
as  they  rushed  into  her  arms. 


104  THE  WIDOW  WYSE. 

"Hear  them,  mamma,"  she  said.  "They 
understand  me ;  and  do  you  see  how  they  love 
me  ?  I  think  I  love  them  as  well  as  Annie 
does  her  little  Julia." 

"Ah!  how  can  they  help  loafing  what  is  so 
loafly.?  les  pauvres  innocents!"  said  Ninette, 
in  low,  ecstatic  tones. 

Mrs.  Wyse  shook  her  finger  playfully  at  her 
maid,  saying,  — 

"Flatterer!" 

"  Ah  !  non,  madame  "  — 

"You  see,"  said  Mrs.  Wyse,  interrupting  her 
and  turning  to  her  mother,  "  they  all  spoil  me, 
even  Ninette." 

"I  do  really  think,  Julia,"  said  Mrs.  Houlton, 
indignantly,  as  that  person  went  out,  "  that  you 
allow  Ninette  to  be  too  familiar.  I  have 
noticed  it  a  good  deal,  and  I  believe  that  you 
are  making  a  mistake." 

"  Poor  Ninette  !  "  answered  her  daughter  : 
"  I  took  her  from  slavery  and  she  does  not 
forget  it.  She  is  perfectly  devoted  to  me  — 
such  a  faithful  creature !  Why,  I  could  not 
get  along  a  day  without  her!  I  think  you 
hardly  know  how  much  I  am  indebted  to  her 


THE   WIDOW  WTSE. 


105 


for  what  you  are  pleased  to  call  '  my  improved 
personal  appearance.'  Of  course  she  knows  a 
good  many  of  my  secrets ;  but  she  is  very  wise, 
is  my  little  Ninette.  I  make  it  worth  her 
while  to  be.  Oh,  yes !  never  fear.  Ninette 
is  all  right.  She  knows  what  is  for  her 
interest." 

"What  a  convenience  you  make  of  those 
dogs,  Julia,"  said  Mrs.  Houlton,  with  a  little 
warmth,  as  her  mind  went  back  to  the  inter- 
rupted subject. 

"  Oh,  yes ! "  said  her  daughter,  with  the 
utmost  candor ;  "  I  send  for  them  when  I  want 
to  change  a  subject,  as  you  notice.  I  really 
don't  know  what  I  shduld  do  without  them. 
They  amuse  me,  and  they  never  ask  disagree- 
able questions." 


CHAPTER  VII.  / 

GAYETIES. 

MRS.  HOULTON'S  pleasant  rooms  were  crowd- 
ed with  enthusiastic  admirers  on  the  evening 
of  the  reception.  The  Widow  Wyse  wore  a 
gown  which  every  one  pronounced  the  perfec- 
tion of  good  taste,  and  which  set  off  her  lovely 
complexion  as  nothing  else  could.  It  was  of  a 
black,  gauzy  material,  through  which  her  per- 
fectly formed  arms  were  seen  to  the  best 
advantage.  The  overskirt  was  looped  with 
clusters  of  purplish-black  pansies,  their  yellow 
hearts  gleaming  like  the  coils  of  her  tawny 
hair.  It  was  evident  that  the  Widow  Wyse 
had  made  up  her  'mind  to  be  irresistible  this 
evening.  The  fervor  with  which  she  said  to 
everybody,  "  I  am  so  glad  to  get  back  to  the 
dear  old  place  and  the  dear  old  friends," 
charmed  one  and  all.  She  talked  with  the  new 
rector  as  though  her  happiness  depended  upon 
the  welfare  of  the  Church.  He  was  delighted 
with  her  quick  appreciation,  her  ready  acqui- 


GATETIES. 


107 


escence  in  his  views,  her  humble  deference /to 
his  opinions,  her  evident  interest  in  the  poor  of 
the  parish ;  and  her  conquest  was  complete 
when,  after  a  few  words  of  delicate  flattery,  she 
offered  to  start  a  bazar  for  the  benefit  of  "The 
Church  Poor  Fund "  immediately  after  her 
return  from  Boston  ;  and  a  few  minutes  later 
he  startled  one  of  the  older  parishioners  whom 
he  had  heard  speaking  of  her  as  a  gay  woman 
of  fashion,  by  saying,  — 

"  She  may  be  called  so,  but  a  less  worldly 
minded  woman  I  have  seldom  met." 

He  had  known  her  just  half  an  hour.  In- 
deed, they  all  seemed  under  a  spell.  She 
displayed  the  most  eager  interest  in  the  most 
trifling  amusements  of  the  younger  portion  of 
society,  and  they  flattered  themselves  that  it 
was  their  pleasure  that  she  was  seeking  to 
promote,  as  she  told  them  her  plans  and 
projects. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Wyse !  "  said  one  enthusiastic 
young  lady,  "somebody  says  that  you  are 
going  to  leave  us  soon ;  but  you  must  not. 
Indeed,  we  will  not  let  you  go.  We  have  so 
counted  on  your  coming  back !  It  has  been 


IO8  THE    WIDOW    WTSE, 

as  dull  as  the  catacombs,  so  far  this  winter. 
We  might  as  well  be  mummies,  and  done 
with  it." 

"  You  dear  little  rosebud  !  "  said  Mrs.  Wyse, 
laughing  softly.  "Who  says  such  a  dreadful 
thing  ?  Do  you  think  I  could  stay  away  long, 
and  leave  you  to  wither  in  this  dull  place, 
especially  after  such  an  appeal  ?  Indeed,  I  am 
only  tearing  myself  _  away  for  a  week  or  two.  I 
shall  be  only  too  glad  to  come  back  and  help 
you  to  be  merry,  for  I  am"- 

And  she  turned  away  to  speak  to  a  passing 
friend.  The  Widow  Wyse  had  a  way  of  turn- 
ing at  a  half-finished  sentence.  She  often 
found  it  convenient. 

"Just  the  same  as  ever!"  exclaimed  the 
enthusiastic  young  lady.  "  So  delightfully 
impulsive  !  She  always  had  a  habit  of  break- 
ing off  in  this  way." 

"Rather  an  annoying  habit,  I  should  say," 
spoke  out  a  lady  who  was  getting  to  be  called 
an  old  maid  by  the  very  young  ladies  in 
society. 

"  I  think  she  is  perfectly  lovely,"  said  the 
first  young  lady.  "  She  does  n't  look  a  day 
older  than  she  did  when  she  went  away. 


'A 

GATETIES.  109 

What  a  lovely  complexion  she  has,  and  what  a 
charming  dimple  in  her  left  cheek  !  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Miss  Brown,  the  old  young 
lady.  "  I  noticed  that  dimple,  too.  It  is  a 
new  one.  She  did  n't  have  it  when  she  went 
away." 

"  What  can  you  mean  ?"  said  the  others,  in  a 
breath. 

"Why,"  said  Miss  Brown,  "don't  you  know 
that  they  make  dimples  in  Paris  ?  You  can 
have  them  as  deep  as  you  like,  only  you  have 
to  submit  to  a  surgical  operation  to  accomplish 
it.  She  has  another  on  her  shoulder.  I  sup- 
pose that  was  an  experiment." 

"  But  how  do  you  know  anything  about  it  ? " 
queried  one  of  the  young  ladies. 

"  Her  maid  told  Mrs.  Jaques,  the  seamstress, 
who  was  assisting  her  on  Mrs.  Houlton's  dress, 
last  week.  You  know  she  is  a  great  gossip." 

"Yes,  she  is  a  great  gossip,  and  I  don't 
believe  a  word  she  says,"  said  Mrs.  Wyse's 
admirer,  with  warmth.  All  the  same,  the 
young  ladies,  as  they  turned  away,  puckered 
their  young  foreheads  in  trying  to  remember 
whether  Mrs.  Wyse  had  dimples  when  she 
went  abroad, 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

AT    MADAM    LEONARD'S. 

"  DEAR,  dear,  dear  me  !  what  a  flutter  Miss 
Highgate  is  in  this  morning,  to  be  sure,"  said 
Kitty  one  morning  just  before  Christmas,  "and 
madam,  too,  is  scarcely  less  excited,  and  all 
because  of  a  note  from  the  Widow  Wyse." 

"And  what  of  the  Widow  Wyse?"  said 
Ethel.  "Has  she  come  back  to  her  native 
land  ?  " 

"  Not  only  has  she  come  back,"  answered 
Kitty,  "but  she  is  to  be  here  to-day,  and  our 
history  is  to  be  given  up  in  consequence." 

"Oh,  bless  the  Widow  Wyse!"  said  Ethel, 
throwing  down  her  book.  "  I  won't  study 
another  word,  as  it  would  do  no  good.  I 
could  n't  possibly  remember  the  dates  and 
things  until  to-morrow,  to  save  my  life.  Bless 
the  Widow  Wyse  !  I  say  again.  Bless  anybody 
who  saves  me  history.  But  tell  me  more  about 
this  engaging  person.  She  is  wealthy,  of 
course,  or  Lizzie  Highgate  would  n't  worship 
her." 


AT  MADAM  LEONARD'S.  Ill 

"  Oh,  yes,"  answered  Kitty,  "  at  least  it  is 
supposed  so.  She  married  a  man  considerably 
more  than  twice  her  age  for  his  money,  and,  as 
Madam  Leonard  says,  '  She  bears  her  loss  very 
sweetly.'  " 

"  I  hope  crepe  is  becoming  to  her,"  said 
Ethel,  laughing. 

"  Oh,  bless  you,  she  does  n't  wear  crepe," 
said  Kitty.  "  She  says  that  owing  to  her  deli- 
cate organization  her  physicians  have  forbidden 
it.  Lustreless  black  silks  and  delicate  gauzes 
are  becoming  to  everybody,  and  mauve  ribbons 
would  especially  suit  the  Widow  Wyse's  fair 
complexion.  She  is  really  pretty,  and  you  must 
be  prepared  for  a  decidedly  dashing  widow." 

"  She  will  find  me  very  amiable,  on  account 
of  the  lesson  she  has  spared  me,"  said  Ethel,  as 
they  went  to  a  recitation. 

In  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  as  Kitty  was 
standing  by  the  window,  she  suddenly  exclaimed  : 
"  Come,  Ethel,  quickly,  here  she  is." 

"  How  young  she  looks,"  said  Ethel.  "  I 
expected  to  see  an  older  person." 

"Yes,"  admitted  Kitty,  "she  does  look 
young  from  here,  younger  than  she  did  when 


112  THE   WIDOW  WTSE. 

she  left  school,  but  a  brush  of  powder  and 
a  soupqon  of  rouge  will  accomplish  wonders  in 
a  woman's  face  sometimes,  if  she  is  skilful." 

"You  dreadful  girl,"  exclaimed  Ethel,  "you 
talk  like  a  '  world-worn  cynic,'  and  an  old 
bachelor  besides.  I  am  ashamed  of  you.  What 
would  your  dear,  charitable  mother  say  to  you  ? 
Here  am  I,  ready  to  embrace  her." 

"I  don't  hate  history  as  you  do,"  said  Kitty, 
dryly. 

"  But  —  you  do  hate  the  Widow  Wyse," 
answered  Ethel ;  "  anybody  can  see  that." 

"No,"  said  Kitty,  "I  don't  think  I  do,  but  I 
hate  to  have  people  make  such  a  fuss  over  any- 
body." 

"  Especially  the  Widow  Wyse,"  said  Ethel. 

"Especially  the  Widow  Wyse,"  admitted 
Kitty.  . 

An  hour  later  they  were  summoned  to  the 
drawing-room.  Mrs.  Wyse,  moving  swiftly 
toward  Kitty,  taking  both  hands  and  kissing 
her  impulsively  on  both  cheeks,  said  :  — 

"  You  dear,  little  Kitten,  I  am  so  glad  to  see 
you,  and  to  see  you  here.  It  seems  as  though 
I  had  hardly  been  away.  I  feel  like  a  school- 
girl again  instead  of  a"  — 


A  T  MADAM  LEONARD'S.  1 1 3 

Here  she  broke  off,  dropped  her  eyes  with 
a  sigh  of  deep  emotion,  made  an  effective  pause, 
winked  fast  two  or  three  times,  then  noticing 
Ethel,  as  if  for  the  first  time,  she  moved  toward 
her,  offering  her  hand,  with  a  sweet  smile:  — 

"And  this,  I  know,  is  Miss  Townsend.  I 
shall  not  need  a  formal  introduction,  I  am  sure, 
when  I  tell  you  that  I  saw  your  dear  papa  but 
a  few  days  before  I  left  Dresden." 

"  Oh,  have  you  really  seen  papa  recently  ? " 
exclaimed  Ethel,  eagerly.  "  How  was  he  ?  He 
writes  me  often,  but  I  should  like  to  know  if 
he  was  looking  well  and  happy  when  you  saw 
him  ? " 

"  He  was  looking  very  well.  Very  proud 
when  speaking  of  you,  my  dear,  and  very 
handsome.  Indeed,  they  call  him  '  the  hand- 
some American,'  in  Dresden.  I  met  him  first 
in  Paris,  and  I  thought  him  a  little  sad,  but  he 
was  much  improved  when  I  saw  him  last,  but 
he  misses  you  sorely  yet,  and  is  looking  forward 
impatiently  to  the  time  when  he  may  expect 
you  to  join  him." 

Then  turning  to  Madam  Leonard,  she  said : 
"  How  lovely  it  is  here,  and  how  kind  of  you 


114  THE   WIDOW  WTSE. 

to  permit  me  to  see  these  dear  girls.  I  could 
almost  beg  of  you  to  take  me  again  as  a  pupil." 

"  Indeed,  I  wish  I  might,"  said  Madam  Leon- 
ard, fervently. 

"  And  now,"  said  Mrs.  Wyse,  rising,  "  I  am 
sorry  to  say  I  must  go." 

"  Oh,  do  not  go  yet,  my  dear,"  said  Madam 
Leonard,  earnestly;  "you  know  how  glad  we 
should  be  to  keep  you  with  us  to-night." 

"  Don't  tempt  me,  dear  madam,"  said  the 
fair  widow.  "I  must  not  stay.  I  promised  Nana 
faithfully  that  I  would  be  back  to-night.  It  is 
so  hard  to  refuse  such  an  invitation,  but  I  shall 
see  you  again  soon." 

"How  is  Nana?"  asked  Madam  Leonard, 
indifferently. 

"  Oh,  the  same  as  ever,"  said  Mrs.  Wyse,  with 
a  soft  laugh.  "  She  is  so  bright  and  keen  that 
I  am  positively  afraid  of  her.  Those  flashing 
retorts  are  always  on  the  end  of  her  tongue. 
I  told  her  this  morning  that  I  was  constantly 
seeing  sparks  and  trying  to  dodge  them." 

"These  sarcastic  speeches  do  Miss  Cleveland 
no  credit,"  said  Madam  Leonard,  severely. 

"  But   she   is    so   uncommonly  bright,"   said 


A  T  MADAM  LEONARD'S.  I  I  5 

Mrs.  Wyse.  "  I  often  wish  I  had  the  gift  of 
making  such  amazingly  witty  speeches." 

"  Don't  wish  it,  my  dear,"  answered  madam. 
"  I  am  sure  no  one  would  wish  to  be  so  dis- 
liked," remembering  her  former  pupil's  many 
pert  remarks. 

"Oh,  no,  indeed!"  exclaimed  the  charming 
Widow  Wyse.  "  I  want  everybody  to  love  me. 
I  think  it  would  break  my  heart  to  know  that 
anybody  really  disliked  me." 

"Well,"  said  Kitty,  with  a  rising  inflection, 
when  the  girls  were  again  by  themselves. 

"  Well,"  answered  Ethel,  with  a  provoking, 
falling  inflection. 

"Don't  be  stupid,"  said  Kitty,  impatiently. 
"What  do  you  think  of  the  Widow  Wyse?" 

"  If  I  must  give  an  opinion  on  a  five  minutes' 
acquaintance,"  said  Ethel,  slowly,  "  I  should 
say  that  she  seems  amiable,  and  is  certainly 
a  pretty,  graceful  young  woman." 

"  She  does  seem  so,"  said  Kitty,  reluctantly. 
"  She  is  certainly  changed  since  I  saw  her  last. 
She  doesn't  look  quite  the  same.  She  could 
hardly  help  improving  with  the  advantages  she 
has  had  ;  but  there  is  something  about  her  face 
that  puzzles  me.  I  can't  make  out  what  it  is." 


Il6  THE    WIDOW    WTSE. 

"  She  has  a  youthful  face,"  answered  Ethel, 
"  in  spite  of  your  objectionable  powder,  but  I 
should  think  some  of  it  would  get  lodged  in 
that  deep  dimple  sometimes." 
.  "That's  it,"  exclaimed  Kitty,  "it  is  that 
dimple  that  has  changed  her." 

"  But  she  must  have  had  that  always,"  said 
Ethel. 

"  She  certainly  did  not  have  it  when  she 
went  away,"  persisted  Kitty. 

"  Oh  !  you  dear,  absurd  little  Kitten  !  "  said 
Ethel,  laughing;  "you  are  so  prejudiced  against 
the  Widow  Wyse  that  you  won't  allow  her  that 
poor  little  dimple.  For  shame !  " 

"I  never  was  so  puzzled  in  my  life,"  said 
Kitty,  dismissing  the  subject. 

Mrs.  Wyse  had  told  her  mother  that  there 
was  one  man  in  Boston  that  she  particularly 
desired  to  meet  again,  and  she  was  fortunate  in 
the  fulfilment  of  this  desire.  Mr.  Apthorpe  had 
overtaken  her  one  morning  as  she  was  walking 
with  Nana  across  the  Common.  He  accosted 
the  latter  with  — 

"  Well,  Miss  Nana,  are  you  taking  a  walk  to 
sharpen  your  wits  this  frosty  morning  ?  " 


A  T  MADAM  LEONARD'S.  I  I  7 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  quickly,  "and  I  see  that 
you  are  doing  the  same.  I  hope  we  shall  meet 
later." 

He  laughed  at  her  quick  answer,  as  though 
amused.  Then  she  said  to  her  companion,  in. 
the  same  mocking  tone  :  "Julia,  this  is  my  dear 
friend  Mr.  Apthorpe,  who  loves  me,  even  though 
he  often  chastises  me.  Mrs.  Wyse  —  Mr. 
Apthorpe." 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Apthorpe,"  said  the  fair  widow,  in  a 
soft,  low  voice  which  contrasted  strangely  with 
Nana's,  "  I  did  hope  to  see  recognition  in  your 
eyes,"  as  she  gave  him  her  hand. 

"  I  have  met  you  before.  I  was  sure  of  it 
before  you  spoke,  for  I  seldom  forget  faces. 
You  must  pardon  me  for  forgetting  your  name." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  in  Paris ;  but  I  was 
foolish  to  expect  you  to  remember  me,  as  we 
met  but  once,  and  only  for  a  short  time.  Of 
course  I  could  not  forget  you  ;  besides,  I  have 
been  reminded  of  you  so  many  times  by  an  old 
friend  of  yours,  Dr.  Townsend,  of  Mobile." 

"  Ah,  Dr.  Townsend,"  said  Mr.  Apthorpe, 
interested  at  once.  "  So  you  know  him  ? " 
And  forthwith  began  to  talk  of  him  in  a  very 


Il8  THE    WIDOW    WTSE. 

animated,  interesting  way  as  they  walked  on, 
until  Nana,  after  trying  in  vain  to  get  her  com- 
panion's attention,  said  :  — 

"  I  positively  must  interrupt  you,  for  we  have 
an  important  engagement  this  morning,  and 
you  have,  by  your  enchantment,  like  the  Pied 
Piper  of  Hamelin,  drawn  us  after  you,  entirely 
out  of  our  way." 

"  I  was  so  glad  to  meet  him  again,"  said  Mrs. 
Wyse,  after  they  had  left  him  almost  at  his  very 
door.  "  Is  he  not  charming  ?  " 

"Very  charming,  when  he  chooses  to  be, 
which  is  not  always,  as  I  have  the  misfortune 
to  know,"  answered  Nana. 

"How  do  you  dare  to  answer  him  as  you  do 
sometimes?"  asked  Mrs.  Wyse. 

"Oh,  I  always  dare  to  say  anything  I  choose," 
said  the  irrepressible  Nana.  "  But  if  you  could 
hear  him  talk  to  me  sometimes  ;  nothing  that 
I  could  say  would  surprise  you.  I  assure  you, 
his  language  is  often  more  forcible  than  polite." 


CHAPTER    IX. 

COUNTRY    GAYETIES. 

MRS.  WvsE.went  back  to  her  mamma,  after 
having  exacted  a  promise  from  Nana  to  visit 
her  during  the  month  of  May,  quite  well  satis- 
fied with  her  visit.  She  had  accomplished  all 
that  she  had  planned  for,  and  she  was  in  a 
most  amiable  frame  of  mind.  She  was  ready 
to  do  her  part  in  the  social  world  of  Alliance. 
She  was  as  good  as  her  word,  as  far  as  gayeties 
were  concerned,  for  she  could  not  live  without 
excitement.  Society  was  an  absolute  necessity 
for  her.  Invitations  poured  in  from  all  quar- 
ters. Balls,  theatricals,  and  other  entertain- 
ments, followed  in  quick  succession.  All  this 
distracting  flurry  had  an  exhilarating  effect 
upon  her  spirits.  The  young  girls  went  wild 
over  her ;  but  after  a  while  their  mothers 
began  to  shake  their  heads,  for  her  spirits 
sometimes  ran  away  with  her.  There  was  a 
spice  of  Bohemianism  in  her  gayety,  noticeable 
as  she  grew  more  careless  of  being  observed, 


120  THE   WIDOW  WTSE. 

that  scarcely  kept  her  to  the  conventionalities 
of  life;  but  she  had  such  an  appearance  of 
cheerful  good-nature  that  it  was  easy  to  forgive 
her  sometimes  too  gay  spirits.  She  had,  also, 
the  rare  gift  of  making  people  believe  that 
they  were  fully  appreciated  —  the  inestimable 
gift  of  flattery.  Intellectual  men  listened  to 
her  gay  conversation  with  smiling  encourage- 
ment;  they  found  it  an  enjoyable  relaxation. 
Her  style  of  narration  was  very  dramatic  and 
vivid,  and  they  did  not  stop  to  inquire  whether 
there  was  any  solid  basis,  or,  in  fact,  any  foun- 
dation at  all,  for  her  prettily  told  stories ;  and 
if  any  Miss  Brown  gave  a  doubtful  shrug,  or 
uttered  a  word  of  disbelief,  she  found  an  apol- 
ogist before  her.  She  was  the  life  of  the 
company  she  happened  to  be  in,  and  everybody 
voted  her  charming  —  a  little  given  to  embel- 
lishment, perhaps  ;  but  that  was  owing  to  her 
enthusiastic  nature.  She  was  an  incessant 
talker,  and  had  read  a  good  deal — -very  super- 
ficially, it  is  true ;  but  as  long  as  she  was 
bright  and  amusing,  people  were  satisfied. 
She  took  a  wonderful  interest  in  the  individ- 
ual she  happened  to  be  talking  with  at  the 


C  O  UNTR  T  GA  TE  TIES.  \  2  I 

moment,  and  she  succeeded  in  making  that 
person  believe  that  he  or  she  was  the  one 
being  in  the  world  in  whose  society  she  took 
the  greatest  delight  —  excepting,  perhaps,  Miss 
Brown,  who  could  not  believe  that  one  pair  of 
arms  could  take  in  the  whole  world.  But  Miss 
Brown  was  only  Miss  Brown,  and  nobody  paid 
any  attention  to  her.  But  it  was  well  for  the 
Widow  Wyse  that  she  had  a  mother  who  knew 
her  weakness  in  the  way  of  making  promises 
only  to  break  them. 

"When  are  you  going  to  arrange  for  the 
bazar  in  aid  of  the  'Poor  Fund,'  Julia?"  asked 
Mrs.  Houlton,  as  her  daughter  made  a  late 
appearance  at  the  breakfast-table  one  morning. 
"It  will  not  do  to  disappoint  the  rector." 

"  Good  gracious,  mamma !  I  had  forgotten 
his  very  existence,"  said  Mrs.  Wyse.  "  I  be- 
lieve I  did  promise  to  do  something,  and  of 
course  I  must.  I  wish  the  rector,  the  church, 
and  the  poor,  were  in  Guinea." 

"  You  should  n't  be  so  reckless  in  your 
promises,"  said  her  mother,  laughing  at  her 
ludicrous  look  of  disgust.  "  I  do  really  wish 
you  would  be  more  careful,  Julia.  I  never  was 


122  THE   WIDOW  WTSE. 

more  embarrassed  in  my  life  than  I  was  last 
week  when  young  Eaton  came,  by  your  invita- 
tion, to  dinner.  You  told  me  nothing  about  it, 
and,  when  he  spoke  of  you,  I  said  you  were 
out,  I  did  not  know  where.  Of  course  I  made 
the  best  of  it  when  he  told  me  you  expected 
him  to  dine  with  you,  and  said  that  you  would 
doubtless  explain  your  absence." 

"Which  I  did,  to  his  entire  satisfaction,  the 
next  day.  I  said  I  was  called  away  hastily  to 
see  a  person  who  was  ill,  and  for  the  time 
forgot  even  him.  The  last  part  of  my  state- 
ment was  perfectly  true,"  said  Mrs.  Wyse, 
laughing.  "  Of  course  he  forgave  me,  and 
gave  me  credit  for  my  quick  sympathies, 
besides." 

Her  mother  smiled,  and  said,  finally  :  — 

"  I  really  think,  my  dear,  that  it  would  do 
you  no  harm  to  take  an  interest  in  the  church, 
now.  You  have  been  very  gay,  and  people  will 
think  you  frivolous  if  you  go  on,  which  would 
never  do,  you  know." 

"You  are  right,  as  usual,  mamma,"  answered 
her  daughter.  "  Fortunately  it  is  almost  Lent, 
so  I  should  have  to  be  sedate  soon,  anyway. 


COUNTR r  GA  TETIES.  1 23 

We  can  do  a  good  deal  in  six  weeks,  and  we 
will  have  a  grand  fair  at  Easter.  I  shall  man- 
age the  whole  thing,  and  do  myself  credit.  Mr. 
Aden  will  be  delighted.  Just  fancy  what  a 
saint  he  will  think  me,"  and  she  laughed  softly 
at  the  thought.  "  I  shall  not  tire  myself  with 
work,  I  assure  you.  You  must  help  me;  and  I 
will  interest  the  old  tabbies,  so  that  they  will 
do  something  besides  talk ;  and  the  girls  will 
do  anything  I  ask  of  them." 

It  was  a  new  excitement,  and  she  rushed 
into  it  with  her  whole  heart. 

"  I  shall  ask  Charlotte  Brown  to  luncheon 
to-morrow,  to  talk  the  matter  over  and  see 
what  she  will  do ;  and  I  want  you  to  be 
more  than  civil  to  her,"  she  went  on,  with 
enthusiasm. 

"  But  why  do  you  ask  Charlotte  Brown  ? 
There  are  a  good  many  girls  more  agreeable 
than  she,"  said  Mrs.  Houlton. 

"  Oh,  mamma !  "  exclaimed  the  politic  Julia, 
"  I  doj-eally  sometimes  think  you  a  trifle  dull. 
Don't  you  know  that  Miss  Brown  is  one  of 
the  substantiate  of  this  little  town  —  one  who  is 
to  be  thoroughly  depended  upon,  who  dotes  on 


124  THE  WIDOW  WTSE. 

the  rector  and  Mrs.  Aden  —  a  pillar  of  the 
church,  so  to  speak  ?  She  has  been  rather 
snubbed  by  the  young  ladies  lately,  I  should 
say,  and  she  must  be  coaxed.  I  shall  make 
her  adore  me  before  the  affair  is  over." 

And  Mrs.  Wyse  ordered  her  carriage.  She 
met  Miss  Brown  coming  out  of  her  own 
door. 

"Oh,  Lottie!"  she  said,  "I  am  so  glad 
that  I  did  n't  quite  miss  you.  No,  dear,  I 
cannot  come  in  this  morning ;  but  I  want  to 
see  you  particularly,  on  church  matters.  We 
must  not  always  be  gay,  you  know,  and  I 
think  it  is  high  time  that  I,  at  least,  should  be 
doing  something  useful ;  but  I  am  inexperi- 
enced, and  I  want  your  help  and  advice.  I 
dare  say,  you  are  going  on  some  errand  of 
mercy  now.  You  are  so  good  always,  even 
when  you  are  the  gayest,  that  you  make  me 
ashamed."  And  she  wiped  away  an  imaginary 
tear.  "  Lottie,  dear,  cannot  you  come  and  dis- 
cuss the  matter  with  me  over  a*  cup  of  coffee 
to-morrow,  at  one  ?  Indeed,  you  must,  for  I 
cannot  do  anything  without  you.  Of  course 
the  young  girls  will  do  a  good  deal  after  every- 


COUNTRY  GATETIES.  125 

thing  is  planned  ;  but  young  ladies  who  are 
not  giddy  must  direct  them.  We  have  helped 
them  to  enjoy  a  good  deal  during  the  winter, 
and  now  we  must  make  them  work." 

Ah,  Widow  Wyse !  you  are  indeed  a  clever 
schemer.  You  have  taken  at  least  ten  years 
from  Miss  Brown.  It  is  very  evident  that  you 
do  not  think  her  old.  It  is  something,  too,  to 
hear  the  popular  Widow  Wyse  say,  "  We  will 
do  so  and  so."  She  has  not  been  called  by  her 
pet  name  for  years.  Even  her  mother  calls 
her  Charlotte  now,  and  she  is  Miss  Brown  to 
everybody  else.  You  know  very  well  that 
"  Lottie,  dear,"  will  do  for  you  what  plain  Miss 
Brown  would  not. 

Of  course  the  fair  was  a  success.  The 
Widow  Wyse  and  Miss  Brown  presided  over 
the  flower  temple,  and  nobody  passed  by  with- 
out a  call  and  a  purchase.  They  succeeded  in 
astonishing  everybody  with  the  amount  of 
money  theyUook.  The  fair  widow  would  not 
do  anything  without  her  dear  Lottie.  She 
was  so  attentive  to  her  that  'she  compelled 
attention  from  others  ;  for  all  of  which  Miss 
Brown  was  grateful.  The  skilful  Ninette  had 


126  THE   WIDOW    WTSE. 

dressed  her  hair  for  the  occasion,  and  she  did 
indeed  look  and  feel  younger  and  fairer  than 
she  had  done  for  years.  Her  cheeks  flushed 
with  pleasure  as  Mrs.  Wyse  whispered,  with 
an  admiring  look  :  — 

"  You  are  lovely  to-night,  dear.  Always  do 
your  hair  just  as  it  is  now.  It  is  very 
becoming." 

And  she  declared  to  her  mother,  when  she 
returned  home  that  night,  that  she  had  mis- 
judged Mrs.  Wyse ;  she  had  thought  her  vain 
and  frivolous,  but  she  was  an  earnest,  whole- 
souled  woman. 

And  this  "earnest,  whole-souled  woman" 
got  all  the  credit.  She  had  given  some  hand- 
some embroideries  and  a  few  Swiss  carvings 
for  the  fancy-table,  and  had  encouraged  Char- 
lotte Brown  to  work  and  organize  and  engineer 
the  whole  thing,  while  she  fluttered  from  one 
to  another,  and  praised,  flattered,  or  cajoled, 
as  seemed  necessary. 

Her  mother  said,  the  next  morning :  — 

"  That  was  a  very  clever  idea  of  yours,  my 
dear,  of  interesting  Miss  Brown.  She  worked 
hard,  and  was  a  most  excellent  foil  for  you." 


COUNTRT  GATE  TIES.  12J 

Mrs.  Wyse  only  smiled. 

The  rector  was  profoundly  grateful.  Indeed 
he  told  her  that  he  could  hardly  express  his 
thanks  that  she,  who  was  almost  a  stranger, 
should  take  such  an  interest  in  the  parish. 

"  Oh,  dear  Mr.  Aden !  don't  call  me  a 
stranger,"  she  said,  the  ready  tears  springing 
to  her  eyes.  "  I  have  been  feeling  that  I  was 
at  home.  I  have  been  so  busy  and  so  happy 
that  I  had  almost  forgotten  the  few  years  "- 

The  dismayed  rector  impulsively  seized  her 
hand,  and  said,  rather  incoherently :  — 

"  I  am  so  glad  —  I  mean  —  that  you  are 
here.  You  have  been  so  kind  and  thoughtful, 
and  —  and  —  I  shall  bring  Mrs.  Aden  to  see 
you  very  soon." 

While  the  widow  thought :  "  How  charming 
this  would  be,  were  there  no  Mrs.  Aden ! 
It  is  a  great  mistake  for  a  young,  interesting 
clergyman  to  marry." 

Mrs.  Wyse,  by  her  manner,  always  gave 
people  to  understand  that  there  had  been 
something  wanting  in  her  married  life.  That 
it  had  not  been  one  of  perfect  happiness. 
The  young  girls,  overhearing  snatches  of 


125  THE   WIDOW  WTSB. 

conversations  concerning  it,  said  :  "  They  say 
he  was  perfectly  horrid,"  meaning  the  late 
Archibald  Wyse,  but  nobody  in  Alliance  knew 
anything  about  the  matter,  excepting  what 
they  could  gather  from  Mrs.  Houlton's  vague 
hints,  which  were  always,  of  course,  to  her 
daughter's  credit. 


CHAPTER   X. 

RICHARD    APTHORPE. 

CHRISTMAS  coming  on  Tuesday,  the  young 
ladies  of  Madam  Leonard's  were  permitted  to 
go  home  on  the  previous  Saturday.  Ethel 
spent  Sunday  with  Kitty,  and  on  Monday, 
much  to  that  young  lady's  chagrin  went  to  pay 
the  promised  visit  to  Mr.  Apthorpe.  She  re- 
ceived a  most  cordial  welcome.  The  house  had 
a  holiday  appearance,  and  there  was  an  eager, 
expectant  look  upon  the  faces  of  its  inmates. 
It  was  seen  even  in  the  eyes  of  the  tawny, 
splendid-looking  St.  Bernard,  which  walked  ma- 
jestically into  the 'room  to  greet  her.  He  was 
followed  by  two  lesser  specimens  of  the  canine 
species.  It  was  amusing  to  see  the  tiny  white 
Maltese  terrier  look  reverently  up  to  his  big 
companion. 

"  Is  he  not  a  noble  fellow  ? "  said  Mr.  Apthorpe, 
calling  her  attention  to  the  first-mentioned  dog. 
"  Do  you  notice  the  almost  human  look  in  his 
eyes?  He  is  disappointed,  poor  fellow.  I 


130  THE   WIDOW   WTSE. 

believe  he  thought  it  was  Jed.  No,  old  fellow, 
you'll  hardly  see  him  until  evening.  I  need  not 
ask  if  you  are  fond  of  dogs,  Miss  Ethel.  I  can 
see  it  in  your  eyes." 

"  I  love  them,"  said  Ethel,  enthusiastically, 
"  and  I  miss  my  own  sadly.  I  shall  make 
friends  with  His  Majesty  at  once,"  stroking 
the  head  of  the  fine  fellow  beside  her.  "  How 
handsome  he  is  !  " 

"Yes,"  answered  Mr.  Apthorpe,  "and  so  in- 
telligent. Why,  he  almost  talks.  We  are  all 
very  fond  of  him,  and  care  for  him  as  if  he  were 
a  child.  He  has  a  regular  bed,  and  lays  his  head 
upon  a  pillow  every  night.  I  am  glad  you  like 
dogs.  It  will  be  a  strong  bond  of  sympathy 
between  us.  But  I  see  Eleanor  is  waiting  to 
take  you  to  your  room.  I  hope  you  will  be 
comfortable  and  happy,  my  dear." 

"  I  am  sure  I  shall  be,"  said  Ethel,  gratefully, 
as  she  followed  Mrs.  Amesbury  to  her  room. 

"  Now,  my  dear,"  said  her  hostess,  who 
always  made  it  a  point  to  see,  personally,  that 
her  guests  were  comfortable,  "  pray,  make  your- 
self thoroughly  at  home.  My  brother  in- 
sists upon  the  largest  liberty,  not  only  for 


RICHARD  APTHORPE.  1 3  I 

himself,  but  also  for  his  friends.  If  you  should 
wish  to  be  alone,  you  can  be  without  apology, 
but  the  whole  house  is  open  to  you,  with  one 
exception.  Whenever  you  find  the  door  of  my 
brother's  'den'  closed,  you  may  know  that  he 
wishes  to  be  alone.  If  it  is  open,  go  in  freely, 
for  it  is  a  sign  of  invitation.  Now,  I  will  leave 
you,  and  send  my  own  maid  to  assist  you." 

She  started  downstairs,  but  came  back  to 
say :  "  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  I  have  to  go  out 
this  morning ;  you  will  not  mind  it,  I  am  sure. 
You  will  find  my  brother  below,  and  luncheon 
is  served  at  two.  I  may  not  be  back  for  it,  but 
it  is  a  wholly  informal  meal." 

Ethel  had  little  need  of  a  maid,  and  soon 
dismissed  her,  and  after  making  herself  present- 
able, went  down  to  find  her  host,  who,  hearing 
her  step,  called  out :  "  Come  into  my  den  !  my 
dear.  I  want  you  to  see  where  I  spend  most 
of  my  time." 

Ethel  entered,  and  found  Mr.  Apthorpe  seated 
in  a  large  library  surrounded  by  his  dogs,  books, 
and  papers,  and  as  she  glanced  hastily  around 
upon  the  large  cases  of  handsomely  bound  books, 
the  lovely  oil  paintings,  fine  statuary,  and  in- 
viting easy-chairs,  she  said,  laughingly :  — 


132  THE    WIDOW  WTSB. 

"  A  rather  luxurious  den,  I  should  say.  You 
evidently  have  no  sympathy  with  asceticism." 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "  I  confess  to  a  liking 
for  the  good  things  of  this  life.  I  believe  they 
were  given  us  to  enjoy.  I  do  not  believe  in 
voluntary  penance.  There  are  plenty  of  hard 
things  that  we  are  forced  to  suffer.  Sin  inevi- 
tably brings  its  punishment,  and  there  is  no  one 
upon  earth  that  is  free  from  it.  But  I  won't 
preach  you  a  sermon,  for  it  is  hardly  my  forte, 
but  instead  I  will  show  you  some  fine  paintings 
that  I  picked  up  in  my  wanderings." 

Everything  about  this  elegant  house  stamped 
its  owner  as  a  man  of  the  most  delicate  and 
refined  taste.  Ethel  felt  that  she  was  in  an 
enchanted  castle,  whose  good  genius  had  cast  a 
spell  over  her.  Mr.  Apthorpe  was  in  his  hap- 
piest mood,  and  Ethel  listened  with  a  strange, 
intense  delight  to  his  wholly  charming  conversa- 
tion. She  had  associated  with  men  of  culture 
all  her  life.  Her  father  was  a  superior  man  in 
all  respects,  and  she  was  his  especial  pride  and 
constant  companion.  Few  girls  had  her  privi- 
leges of  association.  She  was  a  girl  of  rare 
good  sense,  and  while  enjoying  dancing  and 


RICHARD  APTHORPE.  133 

other  gay  amusements  thoroughly,  she  was  not 
frivolous,  and  she  recognized  at  once  her  host's 
superiority.  He  had,  indeed,  been  endowed 
with  great  mental  gifts.  He  was  a  deep  stu- 
dent of  science  and  literature,  and  a  writer  of 
great  force  and  strength,  and  a  man  so  intel- 
lectual, so  versatile,  with  such  ready  wit,  could 
hardly  fail  of  compelling  from  a  girl  of  Ethel's 
temperament  a  sort  of  worshipful  admiration. 
She  pleased  him,  too,  by  her  quick  sympathy. 
Her  manner  of  listening  was  full  of  graceful 
intelligence,  which  drew  from  him  his  best 
thoughts.  Indeed,  it  was  a  day  of  perfect  en- 
joyment for  Ethel.  And  it  was  refreshing  to 
Richard  Apthorpe  to  find  his  friend's  beautiful 
daughter  so  fresh  and  unspoiled. 

There  were  many  points  of  resemblance  be- 
tween Mr.  Apthorpe  and  Dr.  Townsend,  though 
the  former  was  intellectually  stronger  and  far 
more  gifted.  Ethel  had  had  implanted  in  her 
inmost  soul  an  intense  hatred  of  shams  and  an 
utter  contempt  for  anything  that  seemed  like 
deception.  The  white  light  of  a  beautiful  soul 
shone  in  her  eyes,  and  no  one  looking  into  their 
clear  depths  could  have  a  suspicion  that  the 


134  THE  WIDOW  WTSE. 

smallest  amount  of  deceit  could  find  a  lodging- 
place  in  her  heart. 

She  was  astonished  when  Mr.  Apthorpe  led 
the  way  to  the  dining-room  where  luncheon  was 
spread. 

"  It  cannot  be  two  o'clock,"  she  said,  glancing 
toward  the  mantel. 

"Just  ten  minutes  past,"  said  Mr.  Apthorpe, 
smiling  at  her  look  of  surprise. 

After  luncheon,  which  he  took  standing,  Mr. 
Apthorpe  said  :  — 

"  Now,  my  dear,  if  you  are  not  tired  of  the 
sound  of  my  voice,  I  will  read  some  of  my  own 
poems  to  you ;  but  first,  I  must  show  you  a  little 
painting  that  suggested  the  idea  of  one  of  them 
to  me." 

It  was  a  delicious  bit  of  the  gorgeous  East. 
A  dark-eyed  houri  had  thrown  herself  with 
delightful  abandon  upon  a  luxurious  couch.  A 
perfect  picture  of  careless,  unstudied  grace. 
Ethel  stood  before  it  as  if  fascinated. 

"Do  you  like  it  ?  "  he  asked,  at  length,  finding 
that  she  did  not  speak. 

"It  is  perfect,"  she  answered.  "Do  tell  me, 
who  was  the  artist  ?  He  was  inspired  when  he 
painted  that  picture." 


RICHARD  APTHORPB.  \  3  5 

"  It  is  one  of  my  own,"  he  answered,  care- 
lessly. "  I  am  glad  you  like  it,  for  it  is  one  of 
my  favorites." 

She  stopped  short,  as  they  were  about  enter- 
ing the  library  door,  and  asked,  incredulously : 
"Do  you  mean  that  you  painted  it  yourself?" 

"Yes.  Why  not?"  he  answered,  smiling  at 
her  peculiar  manner. 

"Mr.  Apthorpe,"  she  said,  with  ridiculous 
solemnity,  "  I  am  positively  afraid  of  you. 
Can  you  really  do  everything  ? " 

"  Indeed,  I  cannot ! "  he  answered  quickly, 
"or  I  should  change  some  people  I  know." 
Then  he  added,  more  seriously :  "  I  ought  to 
show  something  of  which  may  be  said,  'Well 
done ! '  for  I  have  had  great  opportunities." 

He  went  to  one  of  the  bookcases  and  took 
down  a  small  volume,  saying,  — 

"  Now,  my  dear,  make  yourself  comfortable, 
upon  that  lounge,  while  I  soothe  you  with  a 
song." 

As  she  lay  there  listening  in  dreamy  content- 
ment to  the  smoothly  flowing  lines,  her  small 
hands  clasped  above  her  head,  with  its  golden 
crown,  drawing  back  the  close  sleeve  and 


136  THE    WIDOW  WTSE. 

revealing  the  beautifully  rounded  arms,  Richard 
Apthorpe  thought  he  had  never  seen  a  fairer 
picture. 

"  If  I  could  only  paint  her  as  she  is  now," 
he  thought,  "  what  a  companion  I  could  make 
for  the  Eastern  scene  she  admires  so  much !  " 

In  the  meantime  Mrs.  Amesbury  had  returned 
and  had  glanced  into  the  library  several  times 
unobserved. 

She  was  a  lady  of  great  tact  and  kindness 
of  heart,  and  when  her  guests  were  happy, 
she  very  wisely  let  them  alone.  Ethel  felt 
thoroughly  at  home  from  the  first.  She  saw 
that  that  was  what  they  desired,  and  that 
there  was  to  be  no  labored  attempt  to  entertain 
her.  Everything  was  naturally,  easily,  and 
gracefully  done. 

"Do  you  think  we  may  expect  Gerald  in 
season  for  dinner?"  asked  Mrs.  Amesbury,  a 
little  anxiously,  as  she  looked  in  a  little  later. 

"He  may  come  on  the  six-ten,"  answered 
her  brother,  "  though  probably  not  until  a  later 
train.  '  It  is  strange  he  did  not  telegraph,  but," 
a  little  impatiently,  "Jed  is  such  a  careless 
fellow." 


RICHARD  APTHORPE. 


137 


"  I  don't  think  Gerald  is  careless,"  answered 
his  sister.  "He  has  probably  sent  a  telegram 
You  know,  there  is  sometimes  a  delay  in  the 
delivery.  We  will  delay  dinner  a  little." 

But  dinner-time  came  and  went,  and  Gerald 
did  not  make  his  appearance.  Indeed  he  had 
not  done  so  when  Ethel  retired  for  the  night, 
which  she  did  early,  saying  that  she  was  tired, 
that  the  brother  and  sister  might  be  alone  to 
greet  the  returned  traveler. 

"  What  a  lovely  girl  she  is,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Amesbury,  as  she  left  the  room. 

"  She  is,  indeed,"  answered  her  brother.  "  I 
find  her  very  intelligent  and  appreciative,  with 
an  opinion  clearly  her  own.  I  notice  the  same 
disposition  to  analyze  people  that  is  one  of 
her  father's  characteristics.  Her  criticisms  are 
very  keen,  too.  I  should  recognize  her  as  Ned 
Townsend's  daughter,  anywhere.  We  used  to 
say  in  college  that  his  scalpel  was  always  at 
hand." 

"  He  is  a  physician,  is  he  not  ? "  asked  Mrs. 
Amesbury. 

"Yes,"  answered  Mr.  Apthorpe,  "but  being 
wealthy  by  inheritance,  he  has  never  practised, 


138  THE   WIDOW  WYSE. 

except  to  give  his  services  to  those  who  were 
too  poor  to  pay  for  them.  He  is  a  noble- 
hearted  man,  and  I  have  always  been  very  fond 
of  him,  although  I  have  not  seen  him  for  a 
number  of  years.  We  must  try  and  make  little 
Ethel  happy.  I  am  glad  Jed  is  to  be  here." 

"  Yes,"  answered  his  sister.  "  Gerald  can 
do  so  much  to  make  her  visit  pleasant." 

Ethel  was  greeted  the  next  morning,  as  she 
drew  back  the  curtains,  with  a  burst  of  sun- 
shine. It  was  a  bright,  glorious  morning,  but 
she  did  not  leave  her  chamber  until  the  last 
moment ;  indeed  it  was  not  until  the  house- 
maid had  announced  breakfast  at  her  door, 
that  she  slowly  descended.  She  met  Mr. 
Apthorpe  as  he  was  passing  through  the  hall 
to  the  drawing-room,  but  his  answer  to  her 
pleasant  greeting  was  quite  unintelligible.  A 
little  surprised  at  his  coldness,  she  followed 
him,  remarking  upon  the  beautiful  morning. 

"  Is  it  ?  "  he  growled.    "  I  had  not  noticed  it." 

She  looked  at  him  in  wonder,  saying, 
anxiously,  "  Are  you  ill,  dear  Mr.  Apthorpe  ?  " 

"Oh,  no,"  he  answered,  a  little  more  gently, 
"  I  am  not  ill,  my  dear,  but  I  am  not  as  young 


RICHARD  APTHORPE.  139 

as  I  once  was,  and  when  I  feel  twinges  of 
rheumatism  I  am  made  painfully  aware  of  it." 

She  passed  into  the  breakfast-room,  and 
finding  Mrs.  Amesbury  alone,  said:  — 

"  I  fear  that  Mr.  Apthorpe  is  feeling  very  ill. 
He  does  n't  seem  at  all  like  himself,  this 
morning." 

"Oh,  he  is  not  ill,"  said  Mrs.  Amesbury, 
smiling :  "  he  is  only  disappointed,  that  is  all. 
You  are  to  take  no  notice  of  it,  my  dear.  You 
know,  we  expected  Gerald  last  night,  but 
instead  of  our  brother,  came  a  letter,  which 
had  in  some  unaccountable  way  been  delayed, 
saying  that  it  was  very  uncertain  when  he 
would  be  home,  as  he  was  about  to  join  a  party 
of  English  friends  who  were  going  to  Egypt. 
We  are  very  fond  of  Gerald,  and  it  is  a  great 
disappointment." 

"Mr.  Gerald  is  a  great  traveler,  is  he  not?" 
asked  Ethel,  feeling  that  she  must  say  some- 
thing. 

"Oh,  yes,  both  of  my  brothers  are  fond  of 
travel,  and  Gerald  has  been  abroad  a  good  part 
of  the  time  in  the  last  five  or  six  years.  I 
wanted  you  to  know  him.  He  is  very  clever, 
and  such  a  charming  talker." 


I4O  THE    WIDOW  WTSE. 

"Is  he  like  Mr.  Apthorpe?"  asked  Ethel, 
feeling  sure  that  he  could  not  be. 

"  Oh,  no,  indeed  !  They  are  totally  unlike. 
You  would  never  dream  that  they  belonged  to 
the  same  "family,"  said  Mrs.  Amesbury. 

"Doesn't  Major  Apthorpe  like  Boston?" 
asked  Ethel,  trying  to  seem  interested. 

"  Oh !  for  that  matter,"  said  Mrs.  Amesbury, 
"to  hear  him  discourse  upon  that  subject  you 
would  think  that  he  considered  it  one  of  the 
most  delightful  places  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 
Oh,  yes !  Gerald  has  a  proper  reverence  for 
Boston,  only  it  happens  that  we  are  not  able 
to  keep  him  here  long  at  a  time." 

At  that  moment  Mr.  Apthorpe,  who  ap- 
peared to  be  in  no  hurry  for  his  breakfast, 
came  in.  He  was  in  what  his  sister  called  one 
of  his  "  moods. "  Nothing  seemed  to  exactly 
please  him.  He  found  fault  with  the  air, 
which  was  too  sharp,  when  he  was  out  for  his 
regular  morning  walk.  The  sun  was  too 
bright :  it  dazzled  his  eyes  ;  and  the  breakfast 
was  hardly  to  his  taste.  Finally,  in  looking 
over  the  morning  paper,  he  found  something 
which  worked  him  up  to  what  he  called  a 


RICHARD  APTHORPE.  1 4 1 

state  of  "righteous  indignation,"  when  he  felt 
better. 

A  few  people  had  been  invited  to  dinner, 
and  Ethel  found  that  she  had  been  bidden 
to  a  rich  intellectual  feast,  for  at  Richard 
Apthorpe's  dinner-table  the  talk  was  always 
of  the  best  and  the  wit  the  keenest.  His 
arrangement  of  the  means  of  hospitality  was 
perfect.  His  dinners  were  good,  and  he  had 
that  rare  social  instinct  which  enabled  him 
always  to  select  those  who  were  congenial  to 
each  other.  Occasionally,  to  be  sure,  as  in  the 
present  case,  a  disturbing  element  would  creep 
in  ;  hut  it  was  always  an  accident. 

Professor  Aiken,  an  old  acquaintance,  had 
dropped  in,  and  was  invited  to  stay.  He  was 
a  man  so  impressed  with  the  idea  of  his  own 
importance  that  he  could  see  nothing  beyond 
it.  He  had  been  asked,  not  without  design,  to 
take  Ethel  in  to  dinner.  Mr.  Apthorpe  said  to 
his  sister,  while  passing  :  — 

"  I  want  to  see  him  try  to  overawe  little 
Ethel.  She  will  show  him  his  mistake,  I 
fancy." 

Ethel  was  at  first  amused  at  his  condescend- 


142  THE   WIDOW  WTSE. 

ing  manner,  and  his  evident  efforts  to  come 
down  to  her  small  comprehension,  as  he  ques- 
tioned her  about  her  school  and  studies  ;  but 
she  soon  tired  of  his  trivial  remarks,  and 
showed  her  annoyance  plainly,  for  she  was 
losing  a  good  deal  of  the  brilliancy  around  her. 
He  persisted,  however,  in  talking,  taking  him- 
self for  a  subject,  on  which  he  seemed  perfectly 
at  home.  He  took  up  the  whole  time  in 
explaining  to  her  by  what  means  he  had 
arrived  at  his  present  exalted  position. 

Mr.  Apthorpe  smiled,  as  they  finally  left  the 
table,  to  see  a  bright  spot,  indicative  of  sup- 
pressed wrath,  on  Ethel's  cheeks.  It  seemed 
that  the  professor  felt  that  he  had  not  suf- 
ficiently impressed  her  with  his  importance, 
for  she  could  not  get  rid  of  him.  He  kept 
persistently  by  her  side  after  their  return  to 
the  drawing-room.  Finally  Mr.  Apthorpe 
heard,  with  satisfaction,  two  or  three  sharp 
retorts  from  the  long-suffering  Ethel,  which 
seemed  not  only  to  surprise,  but  to  offend,  the 
wise  professor,  and  there  was  a  flash  of  sym- 
pathy in  his  eyes  which  was  not  lost  upon  his 
young  guest. 


RICHARD  APTHORPE.  143 

"Well,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Apthorpe,  teas- 
ingly,  the  next  morning,  "I  noticed  that  you 
were  enjoying  a  discussion  with  Professor 
Aiken  last  evening.  What  do  you  think  of 
him  ? " 

"I  hardly  like  to  say,"  answered  Ethel. 
"You  know  I  never  saw  him  before." 

"  Ah  !  but  you  are  quick  to  form  an  opinion  ; 
let  us  have  it,"  said  he. 

"Well,  if  you  really  wish  to  know,"  she 
answered,  flushing,  partly  with  amusement  and 
partly  with  anger,  at  the  remembrance  of  said 
"discussion,"  "he  seems  to  look  at  everybody 
through  the  large  end  of  the  glass.  They 
seem  to  him  very  small,  as  well  as  a  long  way 
from  him.  The  letter  7  is,  with  him,  the  most 
important  one  in  the  whole  alphabet.  He  is  a 
tenacious  old  bulldog,  holding  on  to  his  opin- 
ions, right  or  wrong,  with  a  grip  which  says, 
'I  will  die  before  I  will  let  go.'  And  being  a 
dear  little  white  cat,  I  was,  of  course,  true  to 
my  nature ;  I  arched  my  back,  spit  at  him, 
scratched  him,  and  worried  him  generally,  until 
he  was  glad  to  leave  me,  dragging  his  old 
opinions  after  him.  He  evidently  thought  my 


144  THE  WIDOW  WYSE. 

own  of  very  little  consequence,  and  I  should 
not  have  quarreled  with  him  for  that,  had  he 
let  me  alone ;  but  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of 
being  patronized.  But,  really,"  she  went  on, 
after  a  little  pause,  "you  must  have  been 
ashamed  of  me ;  I  was  ashamed  of  myself.  I 
did  n't  know  I  could  be  so  belligerent.  There 
was  so  little  to  arouse  my  blood  in  the  languid 
South  that  I  fancied  myself  amiable.  I  am 
afraid  I  do  not  appreciate  your  friend  as  he 
thinks  he  deserves.  Perhaps  I  was  on  the 
wrong  side  of  him.  I  might  have  been  awed, 
had  I  not  espied,  beneath  his  dignified  garb, 
the  stilts  peeping  out.  I  am  willing  and  glad 
to  look  up  to  a  man  who  towers,  standing 
grandly  on  his  feet ;  but  if  he  be  mounted  on 
stilts,  let  him  look  out,"  with  a  sudden  motion 
of  the  hand,  as  though  she  would  sweep  away 
the  imaginary  stilts. 

Mr.  Apthorpe  laughed,  saying,  — 

"You  are  your  papa's  own  daughter,  my 
dear." 

"  I  am  glad  to  have  you  say  that,"  answered 
Ethel,  "for  I  am  very  proud  of  papa." 

"You   have   good   reason   to   be,"   said    Mr. 


RICHARD  APTHORPE.  145 

Apthorpe ;  "  and  I,  too,  am  proud  of  his 
friendship.  He  is  worthy  of  any  man's  ad- 
miration." 

"But  why  is  it,"  she  went  on,  "that  that 
man  should  arouse  all  the  antagonism  in  my 
nature  ? " 

"  I  cannot  say,"  he  answered  ;  "  but  I  under- 
derstand  your  feelings  perfectly.  He  often 
attacks  me  in  the  same  way." 

"  You  ? "  said  Ethel,  with  an  incredulous 
look.  "  How  does  he  dare  to  do  that  ?  You 
are  as  much  above  him  as  heaven  is  above 
the  earth." 

He  could  not  mistake  the  genuineness  of  her 
admiration,  and,  appreciated  and  admired  as 
he  had  always  justly  been  by  all  whose  opinions 
were  worth  having,  his  heart  was  touched  as 
it  had  never  been  before,  and  he  kissed  her, 
softly  saying,  — 

"  I  wish  we  could  keep  you  with  us  always, 
my  dear  ; "  and  she  answered  :  — 

"  It  seems  strange  that  you  should  care  for 
a  simple  girl  like  me,  but  I  believe  you  do,  and 
it  makes  me  very  happy." 

There  was  a  tear  in  Richard  Apthorpe's  eye, 


146  THE   WIDOW   WTSE. 

as  she  left  the  room,  but  he  dashed  it 
impatiently  away  with  the  irrelevant  exclama- 
tion :  — 

"  Why  the  devil  Jed  can't  come  home  and 
live  like  a  Christian,  instead  of  roving  about 
the  world  like  a  veritable  Bohemian,  I  cannot 
understand ! " 

He  was  a  strange  mixture  of  tenderness  and 
inflexibility,  of  sweetness  and  acidity.  Terribly 
fascinating  in  his  anger,  and  very  lovable  in  his 
moments  of  tender  thoughtfulness  for  the 
happiness  of  others. 

Ethel  did  not  try  to  analyze  her  feelings. 
She  was  happy,  in  a  dreamy  contented  sort  of 
way,  with  an  undefined  hope  that  this  pleasant 
life  might  last  forever.  She  was  thoroughly 
at  her  ease,  and  she  was  thankful,  selfishly 
thankful,  that  the  supercilious  Gerald's  return 
had  been  indefinitely  postponed.  She  felt 
sorry  for  the  disappointment  of  his  family,  for 
they  were  absurdly  fond  of  him,  but  as  Lizzie 
Highgate  would  say  :  — 

"  It  was  just  too  awfully  convenient  for  her.'; 


CHAPTER    XI. 

HOLIDAY    PLEASURES. 

"  MY  POOR,  NEGLECTED  PAPA,  —  My  con- 
science upbraids  me  for  having  allowed  my  pen 
to  lie  idle  so  long,  but  do  not  imagine  for  a 
moment  that  you  have  been  out  of  my  mind. 
I  think  of  you  always  and  long  for  some  good 
genius  to  transport  you  hither  in  the  twinkling 
of  an  eye,  as  in  the  days  of  Aladdin  the  wonder- 
ful. I  wish  you  could  know  how  much  I  am  en- 
joying in  this  lovely  home.  I  came  on  Monday, 
and  every  moment  has  been  one  of  happiness. 
Mrs.  Amesbury  received  me  with  open  arms, 
and  Mr.  Apthorpe  has  been  delightful.  You 
said  he  had  a  heart  of  gold,  and  you  said  truly. 
His  mind  is  stored  with  diamonds  and  pearls 
and  all  sorts  of  lovely  and  precious  things, 
which  are  continually  dropping  from  his  lips. 
Congratulate  me,  dear  papa,  on  my  good- 
fortune  in  being  here  to  catch  them  as  they 
full.  But  he  does  not  believe  in  casting  pearls 
before  swine.  He  does  not  show  his  jewels 


148  THE   WIDOW  WTSE. 

to  everybody.  It  is  only  when  he  is  surrounded 
by  those  he  likes  that  he  shows  how  thoroughly 
charming  he  can  be.  I  do  not  flatter  myself 
that  it  is  because  of  anything  he  sees  in  me 
to  admire,  that  he  is  so  kind,  but  because  of 
his  friendship  for  you.  Thank  you,  dear,  for 
condescending  to  be  my  father.  Mr.  Apthorpe 
is  the  most  unconsciously  bright  man  I  ever 
met.  But  sometimes  he  is  very  severe.  Mrs. 
Amesbury  calls  him  her  two-edged  sword. 
Nana  Cleveland  says  that  he  is  a  perfect  lion 
when  aroused,  and  that  he  can  not  only  growl, 
but  he  can  roar  so  terrifically  that  he  can  be 
heard  all  over  the  country.  But  he  has  not 
frightened  me  yet.  He  has  been  most  kind 
and  considerate  in  every  way.  What  a  wonder- 
fully fascinating  man  he  is !  He  says  that  he 
has  had  great  opportunities,  and  I  am  sure 
he  has  never  let  any  of  them  escape  him.  It 
is  the  intensity  of  his  utterances,  that  makes 
him  seem  so  aggressive.  He  is  always  ready 
when  occasion  calls  for  rebuke,  and  then  his 
accents  fall  upon  the  ear  so  clear  and  keen 
and  stinging  they  seem  electrical.  One  could 
imagine  him  in  the  thickest  of  the  affray  of 


HOLIDAY  PLEASURES,  149 

battle,  and  with  all-controlling  power  hurling 
with  tones  of  thunder  the  squadrons  on  to 
victory,  combating  successfully  what  would 
seem  to  others  a  forlorn  hope.  He  would  be 
a  prominent  man  anywhere.  His  towering 
intellect  makes  him  seem  a  giant  among  men. 
There  is  something  grand  in  his  denunciations 
of  wrong-doing,  but  I  should  not  want  to  be 
the  culprit  standing  before  him. 

"  I  should  not  speak  so  freely  to  any  one 
else,  but  I  am  sure  that  you,  who  know  him 
so  well,  will  not  think  me  too  enthusiastic. 
The  remembrance  of  this  visit  will  last  until 
I  make  another,  for  I  am  to  come  again,  and 
render  me  superior  to  the  small  annoyances  of 
school  life.  I  shall  write  again,  very  soon, 
dear  papa,  but  just  now  I  am  too  full  of  one 
subject  to  write  on  any  other. 

"  Your  loving 

"TEDDY." 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  slight  knock 
at  the  door,  followed  by  some  one  rushing  in 
and  seizing  Ethel  in  her  arms.  It  was  Kitty, 
whom  she  had  not  seen  since  the  Monday 
before. 


150  THE    WIDOW    WTSE. 

"  I  have  come  to  carry  you  off !  "  she  said ; 
"  mamma  is  to  give  a  stupid  little  reception  for 
some  school  boys  and  teachers  this  evening, 
and  she  insisted  on  my  helping  her  to  entertain 
them,  so  I  insist  upon  your  coming  to  help 
me.  You  won't  have  to  dress  ;  come,  put  on 
your  hat  and  wrap.  I  have  explained  it  all  to 
your  friends  below  and  they  say  that  I  may 
have  you  if  I  will  bring  you  back  to-morrow, 
which  I  shall  do  unless,"  she  said  mischiev- 
ously, "  you  should  wish  to  stay  and  have  a 
cup  of  tea  with  the  malcontents." 

"And  who  are  the  'malcontents'?"  asked 
Ethel. 

"  Why,  don't  you  know  ? "  asked  Kitty. 
"  They  are  those  women  who  are  not  satisfied 
with  that  state  of  life  in  which  it  has  pleased 
God  to  place  them.  They  meet  every  month 
to  talk  over  their  grievances,  and  state  their 
'  views  '  to  their  sisters  in  affliction,  and  try  to 
devise  some  means  to  soften  their  hard-hearted 
masters,  or  what  they  would  like  better,  to 
compel  them  to  give  up  the  reins  of  govern- 
ment to  them.  They  are  like  little  children, 
who,  thinking  their  little  hands  sufficiently 


HO  LI  DA  T  PLEA  S  URES.  \  5  I 

strong,  are  crying  to  drive  the  horses.  As  if 
women  could  n't  do  mischief  enough  without 
the  ballot  !  " 

"  Does  your  mamma  believe  in  woman's 
suffrage  ?  "  asked  Ethel. 

"To  a  certain  extent,"  answered  Kitty,  "and 
they  hope  to  win  her  over  completely." 

"  But  those  poor  boys  weigh  heavily  on  my 
mind.  I  suppose  they  are  thinking  about  their 
neckties  now,  and  they  will  work  themselves 
into  a  state  of  positive  agony  before  evening. 
I  told  mamma  that  it  was  an  act  of  cruelty  on 
her  part  to  invite  them,  but  she  thinks  they 
will  enjoy  it.  I  didn't  take  the  carriage,  for 
I  thought  you  might  like  to  walk." 

"  I  should  like  it  very  much,"  answered 
Ethel,  "as  I  have  not  been  out  of  the  house 
to-day." 

They  had  a  long,  delightful  walk  and  reached 
the  house  just  as  it  was  being  lighted  for  the 
evening. 

Mrs.  Brewster  met  Ethel  with  a  kiss  of 
welcome,  saying,  — 

"  It  is  very  good  of  you  to  come,  my  dear. 
You  must  both  of  you  try  to  make  the  young 


152  THE   WIDOW  WTSE. 

men  feel  at  their  ease.  I  know  that  you  do 
not  need  to  be  cautioned,"  she  went  on,  turn- 
ing to  Ethel,  "but  I  am  always  a  little  appre- 
hensive with  regard  to  my  mischievous  Kitten." 

"  I  '11  be  as  serious  as  a  judge  presiding  over 
a  murder  trial,"  said  the  irrepressible  Kitty. 

"  No,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Brewster,  smiling ; 
"  I  wish  you  to  be  neither  very  serious  nor 
yet  giddy,  but  perfectly  natural." 

"Just  hear  her  !  "  said  Kitty,  mischief  danc- 
ing in  her  brown  eyes.  "  She  wants  me  to  be 
'  perfectly  natural ! '  Yet  my  natural  state  is 
such  that  she  is  'constantly  apprehensive.'  I 
call  that  unconscionably  unreasonable.  Mamma 
does  n't  know  that  the  last  time  she  had  such 
a  gathering  I  was  deliberately  awkward,  just 
to  put  one  poor  fellow  at  his  ease,  and  I  am 
sure  kindness  to  animals  could  go  no  farther 
than  that,  and  yet  that  very  evening  she 
threatened  me  with  the  nursery  just  because 
she  fancied  I  was  amused  at  something." 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  should  do  without 
that  nursery,"  said  Mrs.  Brewster,  laughing. 
"  I  do  really  have  to  send  Kitty  there  now, 
occasionally." 


HO  LI  DA  T  PLEA  S  UKES.  I  5  3 

Mrs.  Brewster  was  a  gracious  hostess  and 
the  young  men  felt  at  ease  with  her  always, 
but  mischievous  Kitty  unconsciously  played 
sad  havoc  with  their  too  susceptible  hearts. 
They  belonged  to  a  university  in  which  Mrs. 
Brewster  was  very  much  interested,  and  they 
received  many  proofs  of  that  lady's  kind 
thoughtfulness  from  time  to  time. 

Kitty  managed  to  meet  Ethel  alone  during 
the  evening  and  said  hurriedly  :  — 

"  Well,  dear,  what  do  you  think  of  mamma's 
pets  ?  They  remind  me  of  those  mechanical 
dolls  which  can  bend,  and  manage  to  articulate 
something  like  words,  if  they  are  squeezed. 
If  a  pretty  girl  speaks  to  one  of  them,  it 
puts  him  in  torture,  which  answers  to  the 
squeezing,  and  he  mumbles  an  unintelligible 
word  or  two.  How  I  pity  the  poor  things ! 
and  mamma  really  thinks  they  enjoy  it." 

"  I  imagined  myself  in  a  bowling-alley,"  said 
Ethel.  "  They  were  all  standing  in  such 
straight,  solemn  rows,  that  I  couldn't  help 
wishing  for  a  bowl.  I  am  sure  if  I  could  have 
had  one,  they  would  all  have  gone  down 
together." 


154  THE   WIDOW  WYSE. 

"  Oh  !  that  is  very  good,"  said  Kitty.  "  I 
must  tell  mamma  of  that." 

"  Not  for  the  world,"  said  Ethel.  "  She 
would  not  threaten  me  with  the  nursery,  but 
she  would  send  me  there  at  once,  and  serve 
me  right,  too.  Go  to  your  duty,  my  dear.  I 
am  going  to  talk  to  that  poor  boy,  who  is 
twisting  his  fingers  off  in  the  corner." 

There  were  the  usual  number  of  accidents 
at  the  supper-table.  Ethel  was  amused  to  see, 
as  one  young  gentleman  let  a  dish  of  ice-cream 
slip  out  of  his  hand,  that  Kitty  quick  as 
thought  dropped  hers,  and  said  to  her  compan- 
ion, loud  enough  for  the  unlucky  fellow  to 
hear  :  — 

"  Don't  let  mamma  know,  for  I  do  really 
want  her  to  think  that  I  have  got  through  one 
evening  without  dropping  anything." 

And  the  next  morning,  as  she  saw  her 
mamma  looking  ruefully  at  a  large  spot  on 
her  handsome  carpet,  she  said,  with  mock 
seriousness  :  — 

"  I  did  it,  mamma,  with  my  little  dish  of 
cream,  for  I  knew  that  you  would  rather  have 
forty  grease  spots  than  that  one  poor  boy 
should  feel  awkward." 


HO  LI  DA  r  PLEA  S  URES.  1 5  5 

Mr.  Brewster,  who  was  standing  near, 
laughed  heartily,  saying,  — 

"  That 's  right,  Kittikin.  It  is  the  kind  of 
charity  which  covers  a  multitude  of  sins ;  you 
are  growing  more  like  your  mamma  every 
day." 

Ethel  returned  to  the  Apthorpes'  the  next 
morning  in  a  drizzle  of  rain  and  sleet,  her 
hands  full  of  lovely  roses. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mr.  Apthorpe,  "  I  thought 
it  was  stormy ;  but  you  have  brought  us 
sunshine." 

"  I  have  brought  some  roses  to  light  up 
your  den,"  said  Ethel.  "Are  they  not 
lovely  ? " 

"Indeed  they  are,"  he  answered,  "and  I 
will  enjoy  them  by-and-by.  I  have  to  go  down 
town  for  an  hour  or  two.  In  the  meantime,  if 
you  are  in  the  mood  for  reading,  here  is  a 
French  novel  that  I  have  been  looking  over ; 
you  will  find  it  bright  and  amusing.  I  believe 
Eleanor  is  busy." 

Ethel  took  the  book  to  her  room,  and  was 
soon  oblivious  to  everything  else.  The  next 
day,  which  was  stormy  also,  she  spent  quietly 


156  THE    WIDOW    WTSE. 

within  doors  ;  but  on  Monday  came  sunshine  — 
a  clear,  cold  day.  She  took  a  brisk  walk  in  the 
morning,  and  after  luncheon  she  went  out  with 
Mrs.  Amesbury  for  a  little  shopping. 

"  I  am  going  to  the  florist's  first,"  said  Mrs. 
Amesbury.  "We  are  to  have  a  few  friends 
this  evening  —  only  a  small  company,  my  clear : 
the  Brewsters  and  a  few  others ;  and  I  want 
you  to  select  the  flowers." 

"Oh,  that  will  be  delightful!"  said  Ethel. 
"  I  am  sure  Kitty  will  enjoy  it  as  much  as  I 
shall." 

That  evening,  about  ten  o'clock,  as  Ethel 
had  strayed  away  from  the  others,  and  was 
standing  before  an  odd  carving,  whose  hideous 
grotcsqueness  had  often  fascinated  her,  she 
heard  Mrs.  Amesbury's  voice  saying,  — 

"Ah  !  here  she  is." 

She  looked  up  quickly,  as  her  hostess  said: 
"  Ethel,  my  dear,  this  is  my  brother  Gerald. 
Miss  Townsend  —  Gerald,"  and  saw,  as  she 
acknowledged  the  introduction,  a  young  man 
of  medium  height,  with  smiling  blue  eyes  and 
blonde  whiskers,  cut  in  the  English  style, 
who,  bowing  with  much  grace,  expressed  his 
pleasure  at  meeting  her, 


HOL  IDA  T  PL  EA  S  URES.  \  5  7 

"  I  hope  we  shall  be  friends,  Miss  Town- 
send,"  he  said.  "My  brother  has  spoken  of 
you  in  his  letters,  and  I  have  heard  so  much  of 
your  father  from  him  that  I  felt  that  I  scarcely 
needed  an  introduction." 

Fortunately  for  Ethel,  at  that  moment  he 
excused  himself  at  a  call  from  his  brother. 
She  was,  for  once  in  her  life,  greatly  em- 
barrassed. 

"  So  this  is  the  elegant  Major  Apthorpe," 
she  soliloquized,  as  he  turned  away.  "  I  won- 
der when  he  came.  I  am  sure  they  did  not 
expect  him  ;  or,  if  they  did,  they  wanted  to 
surprise  me.  Not  a  very  pleasant  surprise,  I 
am  sure.  What  an  'idjet'  he  must  have 
thought  me,  as  I  stood  staring  at  him." 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Amesbury,  com- 
ing back  to  her,  "you  see  Gerald  has  returned, 
and  it  was  such  a  surprise.  He  walked  in 
about  ten  minutes  ago,  as  though  it  were  the 
most  natural  thing  in  the  world." 

"But  he  is  in  evening-dress,"  said  Ethel, 
surprised  out  of  her  usual  politeness. 

"Ah,  yes!"  answered  Mrs.  Amesbury; 
"that  is  like  Gerald.  He  is  always  prepared 


158  THE   V/IDOW    WTSE. 

for  an  emergency.  He  carries  a  dress-suit 
with  him  always  ;  and  as  he  came  up  to  the 
house  he  noticed  that  there  was  company,  so 
he  drove  to  the  hotel,  made  himself  present- 
able, and  came  back.  I  was  so  astonished! 
You  see,  this  party  of  friends  gave  up  their 
intended  visit  to  Egypt  because  two  of  their 
number  were  obliged  to  return  to  England  on 
account  of  the  death  of  a  relative ;  so  we  have 
Gerald,  after  all,  and  it  will  be  a  very  '  Happy 
New  Year'  for  us;  but  let  us  go  back  to  the 
drawing-room." 

Ethel's  eyes  were  irresistibly  drawn  toward 
Major  Apthorpe,  who  was,  of  course,  the 
centre  of  attraction.  She  noticed  this  care- 
fully costumed  young  man  from  the  points  of 
his  spotless  collar  to  the  tips  of  his  dainty, 
perfectly  fitting  boots,  and  she  said  to  her- 
self :  — 

"Kitty  is  right.  He  certainly  is  'nice.'  " 
As  she  drew  nearer  she  noticed  that  he  had 
a  low,  musical  voice,  and  that  he  compelled 
attention  by  his  earnest  way  of  presenting  a 
subject.  His  perfect  courtesy  and  high  breed- 
ing were  noticeable,  even  among  the  cultivated 


HO  LI  DA  T  PLEA  S  URES.  \  5  9 

people  present.  She  was  beginning  to  soften 
toward  him,  and  to  feel  as  though  she  had 
done  him  an  injustice,  when  a  voice  at  her  side 
aroused  her,  and  brought  back  all  her  unrea- 
sonable prejudice. 

"Do  you  see  how  Major  Apthorpe  is 
enjoying  the  sensation  he  has  made,  Miss 
Townsend  ? " 

It  was  Nana  Cleveland  who  spoke. 

"  It  is  quite  like  a  play,  is  it  not  ? "  Ethel 
answered,  a  little  coldly.  "  Major  Apthorpe's 
return  was  very  unexpected  to  his  friends." 

"  My  dear  Miss  Townsend,"  said  Miss  Cleve- 
land, "  Major  Apthorpe  is  in  the  habit  of  doing 
unexpected  things.  It  adds  to  the  general 
interest  concerning  him.  You  will  notice  that 
when  people  are  speaking  of  him  every  sen- 
tence ends  with  an  exclamation  point  when 
it  does  n't  with  an  interrogation." 

Ethel  laughed. 

"  Is  he  really  such  an  egotist  as  you  rep- 
resent him  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Oh!  you  must  judge  for  yourself.  You 
are  likely  to  have  an  opportunity,"  said  Miss 
Cleveland,  as  she  moved  away. 


160  THE   WIDOW  WTSE. 

"At  all  events,"  thought  Ethel,  "he  shall 
have  nothing  from  me  upon  which  to  feed  his 
vanity." 

A  few  minutes  later,  as  she  stood  listening 
to  the  hum  of  well-bred  voices,  where  Nana 
had  left  her,  she  heard  that  young  lady's 
voice  a  little  above  the  rest,  and  slightly 
acrimonious,  talking  to  Major  Apthorpe. 
She  noticed  a  slight  vein  of  sarcasm  running 
through  his  conversation  with  her,  and  she 
also  noticed  "that  air  of  fine  disdain"  which 
Nana  had  spoken  of. 

"How  bitter  she  is  toward  him,"  said  Ethel 
to  herself.  "  One  could  almost  imagine  her 
to  be  in  love  with  him,  she  seems  to  hate 
him  so." 


CHAPTER   XII. 

MAJOR    APTHORPE. 

ETHEL  was  awakened  the  next  morning  by 
the  joyful  barking  of  the  dogs.  She  heard  a 
door  open,  and  a  soft,  caressing  voice  as  the 
petted  animals  tumbled  pellmell  into  the 
room. 

"  Everybody  seems  to  love  him,"  she  thought, 
"  except  Nana,  and  I  am  not  perfectly  sure  that 
she  does  not." 

They  met  at  breakfast,  but  Major  Apthorpe 
addressed  little  of  his  conversation  to  her.  He 
talked  with  his  brother  concerning  his  travels 
and  their  mutual  friends  abroad.  After  break- 
fast both  brothers  went  out,  and  Ethel  settled 
herself  in  the  library  with  a  magazine,  hoping 
to  have  a  quiet  time  by  herself.  A  few  min- 
utes later,  however,  Major  Apthorpe  walked  in, 
saying,  as  he  rubbed  his  cold  hands  :  — 

"  These  chilly  mornings  must  make  you  long 
for  your  Southern  home,  Miss  Townsend." 
He  possessed  an  exquisite  charm, — a  grace 


I  62  THE   WIDOW  WTSE. 

of  manner  as  rare  as  it  was  pleasing,  and  it 
was  impossible  that  Ethel  should  not  feel  its 
influence. 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  answered,  "  I  like  the  North. 
I  have  Northern  blood  in  my  veins,  which  I 
feel  in  this  crisp,  exhilarating  air  to  the  very 
tips  of  my  fingers  ;  but,  oh  !  I  do  miss  my  roses, 
my  big,  luscious  roses."  She  checked  herself 
quickly,  for  she  did  not  mean  to  show  any 
part  of  herself  to  this  man  of  the  world,  this 
cold-hearted,  polished  cynic.  He  should  not 
look  upon  her  as  a  gushing  school-girl.  He 
noticed  her  sudden  change  of  manner,  and 
smiled,  saying  to  himself  :  — 

"Very  pretty,  but  decidedly  capricious." 

There  was  a  conflict  in  her  mind  an  hour 
later,  as,  hearing  a  step,  she  looked  up  just  as 
a  shower  of  roses  came  down  upon  her  book, 
and  she  looked  into  Gerald  Apthorpe's  laugh- 
ing eyes,  as  he  said  :  — 

"  Imagine  yourself  in  the  Sunny  South,  Miss 
Townsend.  Here  are  sunshine,  warmth,  flowers. 
What  more  can  you  ask  for  ?  " 

Her  first  feeling  was  of  anger  against  herself, 
him,  and  the  poor  flowers ;  but  it  passed  away, 
and  she  took  them  up  saying,  gently,  — 


MAJOR  APTHORPE.  163 

"  They  are  very  beautiful.  Thank  you,  but  I 
did  not  mean  to  ask  for  them." 

"  And  you  did  not,"  he  answered.  "  I  love 
flowers,  too,  and  I  mean  to  enjoy  these  with 
you.  Shall  I  put  them  in  water  ? " 

He  called  a  servant,  who  brought  a  vase  filled 
with  water.  He  noticed  that  she  retained  a  few, 
which  she  placed  in  her  corsage,  and  said  to 
himself :  — 

"  If  she  does  n't  throw  them  away  in  a  pet  at 
the  end  of  five  minutes,  I  suppose  I  ought  to 
be  profoundly  grateful.  I  wonder  that  Dick 
should  have  taken  such  an  amazing  fancy  to 
her.  He  must  have  looked  at  her  through  his 
artistic  eye.  She  is  uncommonly  pretty." 

Although  for  the  next  few  days  Ethel  could 
not  help  acknowledging  to  herself  that  this 
self-sufficient  young  man  was  very  thoughtful 
for  her  comfort  in  a  quiet,  unobtrusive  sort  of 
way,  she  meant  to  be  constantly  on  her  guard 
lest  she  should  seem  to  have  fallen  under  that 
charm  of  manner  of  which  he  himself  was  evi- 
dently as  fully  conscious  as  his  admiring  friends. 
Cool  indifference  was  what  she  aimed  at,  but  she 
often  forgot  herself,  thus  strengthening  his  first 


1 64  THE  WIDOW  wrsR. 

estimate  of  her  that  she  was  a  spoiled  beauty, 
capricious,  vain,  and  coquettish.  He  did  not 
trouble  her  with  his  society.  Indeed,  at  first 
she  saw  but  little  of  him.  He  was  full  of  plans 
and  projects  which  he  talked  over  with  his 
brother,  and  seemed  sometimes  almost  unaware 
of  her  presence.  He  was  at  times  provokingly 
indifferent.  His  mind  seemed  completely  en- 
grossed with-  business  affairs. 

Major  Apthorpe  had  never  been  so  foolish 
as  to  fall  in  love  in  the  whole  course  of  his  life. 
He  enjoyed  his  popularity,  and  why  should  he 
not  ?  There  was  a  certain  magnetism  about 
him  that  was  irresistible  to  men  as  well  as  to 
women.  The  efforts  of  managing  mammas  to 
secure  so  eligible  a  parti  for  their  daughters 
were  evident  to  everybody,  and  extremely 
amusing  to  observers ;  for  he  was  perfectly 
heart-whole,  strongly  fortified  at  all  points, 
and  he  took  no  pains  to  conceal  the  fact.  The 
truth  is,  he  was  too  fastidious  to  feel  quite 
satisfied  with  the  modern  society  belle,  but 
there  was,  deep  down  in  his  heart,  a  sweet, 
womanly  ideal,  with  which  he  compared  each 
young  lady  who  had  at  all  interested  him,  and 


MAJOR  APTHORPE.  165 

the  verdict  so  far  had  been  :  "  Tried  and  found 
wanting." 

The  mammas  said  :  "  He  is  not  a  marrying 
man " ;  each  one  at  the  same  time  secretly 
hoping  to  find  some  weak  point  to  assail.  No 
one  could  call  him  a  fop,  but  his  taste  in 
matters  of  dress  was  simply  perfect.  He  was 
"  nice,"  from  the  crown  of  his  well-balanced 
head  to  the  tips  of  his  daintily  shod  feet. 
He  had,  as  I  have  said,  polished,  delightful 
manners,  a  sweet,  persuasive  voice,  and  seemed 
able  to  sway  his  hearers  whithersoever  he 
would.  He  was  not  a  man  of  wild  and  reck- 
less theories,  though  an  untiring  enthusiast, 
who  put  his  whole  soul  into  his  work,  and 
though  slender  of  frame,  his  physical  endur- 
ance was  remarkable.  It  was  the  buoyancy 
of  his  spirits  which  made  him,  no  matter 
what  fatigue  he  had  undergone,  always  fresh, 
gay,  debonair,  entertaining  his  friends  always 
with  the  same  airy  ease  and  elegance.  But  he 
could  be  gay  without  being  dissolute.  Gerald 
Apthorpe's  character  was  above  reproach. 

Ethel  was  wont  to  ensconce  herself  in  a 
corner  of  the  sofa  in  the  library,  with  her 


1 66  THE   WIDOW  WTSE. 

book,  when  Mr.  Apthorpe  was  absent,  and 
one  morning,  the  latter  part  of  the  week,  she 
had  been  reading  an  hour  or  more  when 
Major  Apthorpe,  whom  she  had  imagined  out 
as  usual  at  that  time  of  the  day,  walked 
leisurely  in,  with  a  lighted  cigar  between  his 
lips,  which  he  threw  away  on  discovering  her 
presence. 

"I  have  disturbed  you,"  he  said;  "shall  I 
go  away  ? " 

"Oh,  no,"  she  answered.  "I  am  glad  to 
shut  my  book.  I  have  read  too  long  already. 
But  why  do  you  waste  good  cigars  in  this 
prodigal  fashion  ?  That  is  the  second  one 
you  have  thrown  away  this  morning." 

"  I  thought  it  might  be  disagreeable  to  you  ; 
besides,  I  would  rather  talk  with  you  than 
smoke,"  he  said,  gallantly.  "  I  am  not  wedded 
to  cigars." 

"  You  can  smoke  and  talk,  too,"  she  answered. 
"  It  would  not  trouble  me  in  the  least ;  indeed, 
I  rather  like  the  flavor  of  a  cigar.  Papa  is 
always  smoking,  and  we  are  constantly  to- 
gether when  at  home.  And  do  you  know," 
she  added,  mischievously,  "  that  Southern  ladies 
sometimes  smoke  ? " 


MA yOR  APTHORPE.  \  6  7 

"Ah,"  he  said,  with  the  slightest  possible 
curl  of  the  lip,  "perhaps  I  have  been  remiss. 
May  I  offer  you  a  cigarette  ?  Will  you  smoke 
with  me  ? " 

"  Not  for  the  world,"  answered  Ethel,  quickly. 
"I  think  the  habit  unladylike  in  the  extreme." 

"Then  I  shall  not  smoke,"  he  said,  decidedly. 
"  What  are  you  reading  ?  Ah,  I  see.  You 
must  be  devoted  to  history,  to  read  it  during 
the  holidays." 

"  I  detest  it  heartily,"  she  answered.  "  It  is 
a  self-imposed  daily  task,  though  I  really  got 
interested  this  morning,  for  a  wonder.  But 
I  am  hopeless,  as  far  as  names  and  dates  are 
concerned.  Madam  Leonard  considers  me 
a  positive  disgrace  in  this  respect.  There  are 
only  two  dates  that  I  make  any  pretence  of 
remembering.  They  are  1492  and  1812.  I 
know  there  was  a  war  in  one,  and  a  discovery 
in  the  other ;  but  I  sometimes  get  them  mixed. 
I  do,  indeed.  I  wonder  if  there  is  any  way  to 
cultivate  the  memory.  What  's-his-name  has 
said  —  I  dare  say  you  remember  who,  I  am 
sure  I  do  not  —  that  the  mind  is  like  a  sieve: 
the  more  it  is  crowded,  the  larger  the  holes 


1 68  THE    WIDOW  WTSE. 

become.  You  can  imagine  how  mine  has  been 
crammed,  since  everything  runs  through." 

Major  Apthorpe  laughed,  and  said  :  "Tell  me 
about  your  school.  Who  is  Madam  Leonard, 
and  do  you  like  her  ? " 

"  Oh,  you  must  not  make  the  mistake  of 
calling  it  a  school,"  said  Ethel ;  "madam  would 
be  shocked  at  the  bare  mention  of  the  word. 
You  must  know  that  it  is  a  refined  and  exclu- 
sive home  for  a  few  fortunate  young  ladies. 
Madam  considers  it  an  absolutely  safe  place 
for  us.  I  imagine  the  people  around  this  home 
think  it  is  a  sort  of  asylum  for  those  who  are 
mentally  diseased.  They  must  surely  think 
that  we  are  in  some  degree  dangerous,  since 
we  are  so  carefully  guarded." 

"  It  must  relieve  your  friends  of  a  good  deal 
of  anxiety,"  said  Gerald,  amused' at  her  recital. 
"  Do  you  have  good  teachers  ?  " 

"The  very  best,"  answered  Ethel,  "with  the 
exception  of  the  French  teacher ;  madam  is 
looking  for  another." 

"  I  know  of  one.  A  Parisian,  of  fine  educa- 
tion and  elegant  manners ;  one  whom  I  can 
heartily  recommend,"  said  Major  Apthorpe, 


MAJOR  APTHORPE.  169 

eagerly.  "If  you  will  give  me  Madam 
Leonard's  address,  I  will  write  to  her  at  once, 
for  I  am  interested  in  this  young  man,  and 
would  like  to  get  him  employment." 

"  Fs  he  young  and  handsome  ?  "  asked  Ethel. 
Again  she  noticed  the  curl  of  the  sensitive  lip, 
as  he  answered  :  — 

"  He  is  both  young  and  fine-looking." 

"Oh,  well,  that  settles  the  matter,"  said 
Ethel,  decidedly.  "He  won't  do  at  all. 
Madam  Leonard  had  an  applicant  just  before 
the  holidays,  and  I  heard  her  say  to  Miss 
Carpenter,  concerning  him  :  '  He  had  the  high- 
est testimonials  as  to  character  and  ability, 
but  he  is  too  young,  a  good  deal  too  young, 
and  too  good-looking.  Young  ladies  are  very 
impressionable.' " 

"Poor  young  man,"  said  Major  Apthorpe, 
laughing. 

"Poor  young  ladies,  you  should  say," 
answered  Ethel.  "  We  are  not  allowed  to  look 
at  a  man  under  sixty,  and  not  even  at  sixty, 
if  he  happens  to  be  a  handsome  man.  But 
I  do  wish  you  would  interest  yourself  in  this 
matter,  for  I  want  the  girls  to  have  a  better 


170  THE    WIDOW    WYSE. 

teacher  than  they  have  had.  But,  remember 
that  you  must  not  only  find  a  man  who  is 
ugly,  but  he  must  have  commonplace  ugliness. 
There  must  be  no  mystery  about  him,  either. 
Nothing  picturesque,  for  there  is  a  wonderful 
charm  about  anything  mysterious,  and  pictur- 
esque ugliness  has  a  horrible  fascination  for 
us." 

"  My  friend  might  arrange  a  hump,  and 
limp  a  little,"  suggested  Gerald. 

"  But  you  forget  that  madam  is  a  woman. 
She  would  be  sure  to  find  him  out  at  once," 
said  Ethel. 

"  So  women  are  never  deceived  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Not  when  they  resolutely  set  out  not  to 
be,"  said  Ethel.  "  Sometimes  they  fail  through 
carelessness,  and  sometimes  they  permit  them- 
selves to  fall  in  love,  and  so  are  blinded ;  but 
Madam  Leonard  is  constantly  on  the  alert, 
and  as  to  her  falling  in  love,  why,  the  idea 
is  quite  too  preposterous  to  think  of  for  a 
moment.  Her  'body  is  fashioned  on  the 
refrigerator  plan,  in  which  her  heart  is  laid 
away  to  keep.  No,  your  applicant  must  be 
genuine." 


MAJOR  APTHORPE.  \  *]  \ 

And  so  they  talked,  sometimes  gravely  and 
sometimes  gayly,  until  Mr.  Apthorpe's  return, 
who,  hearing  them  talking  so  amicably  together, 
said  to  his  sister,  in  a  well-pleased  tone  of 
voice  :  — 

"They  seem  to  be  getting  on.  I  say,  it 
would  n't  be  a  bad  plan  for  Jed  to  settle 
down,  eh  ? " 

They  saw  a  good  deal  of  each  other  during 
the  last  week  of  Ethel's  visit.  Gerald  was 
beginning  to  understand  her  better,  and  he 
seemed  to  seek  her  society,  and  she  often 
found  herself  listening  for  his  step,  which  she 
had  learned  to  know.  She  had  not  only 
entirely  forgotten  to  be  ungracious,  but  she 
was  conscious  of  a  spiteful  feeling,  that  was 
wholly  feminine,  against  Nana  Cleveland,  who 
had  so  entirely  misrepresented  him,  and  who, 
she  now  felt  sure,  secretly  admired  him.  She 
had  neglected  her  father  since  Major 
Apthorpe's  return,  and  she  promised  her- 
self that  she  would  make  up  for  it  after  she 
went  back  to  Madam  Leonard's.  But  she 
really  had  nothing  to  write  about.  She  had 
expressed  her  admiration  of  Mr.  Apthorpe  in 


172  THE    WIDOW  WTSE. 

the  strongest  terms,  and  there  was  nothing 
new  that  she  could  say.  To  be  sure,  she  had 
been  to  the  theatre,  and  visited  some  picture- 
galleries,  and  had  driven  about  with  Mrs. 
Amesbury  and  her  youngest  brother,  —  that 
was  all ;  but  she  had  never  kept  even  the 
slightest  thing  from  him,  and  when  she  had 
quite  made  up  her  mind  about  Major  Apthorpe 
she  wfmld  write  about  him.  She  had  enjoyed 
her  visit  extremely,  and  as  the  day  of  her 
departure  drew  near,  she  found  herself  wish- 
ing that  it  might  be  prolonged.  She  was  to 
spend  the  last  few  days  of  her  vacation  with 
Kitty.  Mrs.  Amesbury  and  Mr.  Apthorpe 
expressed  real  regret  at  her  departure,  and 
a  request  for  a  few  days  at  Easter.  Major 
Apthorpe  was  polite,  but  she  would  have  been 
better  pleased  had  he  been  less  light  and  airy 
in  his  farewell. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  the  matter  over, 
Miss  Townsend,"  he  said,  "  and  find  that  I 
cannot  comply  with  your  request.  It  is  an 
impossible  one.  Fancy,"  he  went  on,  turning 
to  his  brother,  "  she  asks  me  to  find  for 
Madam  Leonard  an  educated,  refined  Parisian 


MAJOR  APTHORPE.  173 

who  shall  be  totally  uninteresting.  I  contend 
that  such  a  being  does  not  exist.  I  am  very 
sorry,"  turning  to  Ethel.  "  If  there  is  any 
other  way  in  which  I  can  serve  you,"  with  an 
exquisite  bow,  "command  me." 

She  thought,  as  she  drove  away  :  — 
"  He  might  as  well  have  said  '  Good-by. 
So  glad  to  have  met  you.  I  shall  remember 
you  for  just  about  five  minutes.'"  And  she 
made  a  firm  resolve  at  that  moment  to  think 
of  nothing  but  her  books  and  her  father  on 
her  return  to  Madam  Leonard's. 

The  days  went  slowly  by.  Ethel  had 
enjoyed  her  visit  too  much  to  forget  it.  The 
contrast  with  her  present  life  was  too  great, 
but  she  set  herself  resolutely  at  work.  She 
was  more  studious  and  more  serious  than  she 
had  ever  been  before,  and  Kitty  marveled  at  the 
change  in  her.  But  at  last  the  Easter  holidays 
came,  which  were  of  a  week's  duration  only, 
as  Madam  Leonard  preferred  closing  the  year 
the  first  of  June.  Ethel  went  home  with 
Kitty  as  usual,  and  she  spent  two  days  with 
the  Apthorpes.  Gerald  was  away,  and  did 
not  return  until  after  her  departure ;  and, 


174  THE  WIDOW  WTSE. 

much  as  she  enjoyed  Mr.  Apthorpe's  society, 
there  seemed  to  be  something  wanting.  His 
brother  fumed  and  scolded  because  he  did 
not  come  back  as  he  had  promised,  and 
Ethel  was  ashamed  to  confess,  even  to  her- 
self, how  much  she  missed  him.  She  began 
to  long  for  the  end  of  the  school  year,  when 
she  would  go  into  the  country,  and  forget 
everything  in  the  enjoyment  of  nature. 


CHAPTER  Xni. 

ALLIANCE. 

THE  social  harmony  existing  in  this  place 
was  remarkable.  As  a  proof  of  it  here  was 
Fraternity  Hall,  and  there  the  Amity  Club 
rooms,  and  a  little  farther  on  the  church 
sociable  parlors.  It  boasted  three  Shake- 
speare clubs,  and  book  clubs  without  number. 
There  was  sometimes  a  little  disaffection, 
to  be  sure,  but  that  is  unavoidable  among 
women.  For  instance,  one  would-be  ruler  of 
society,  who  had  often  been  heard  to  declare 
that  she  "  hated  po'try,"  was  offended  because 
she  was  not  chosen  president  of  a  Shake- 
speare club,  and  withdrew  in  high  dudgeon. 
This  would  never  do.  The  Widow  Wyse, 
the  unanimously  elected  president,  took  it  on 
herself  to  anoint  the  creaking  wheels  of  the 
literary  society  with  the  convenient,  oleaginous 
compound  she  never  allowed  herself  to  be 
without.  She  insisted  upon  resigning  in 
favor  of  the  irate  lady,  which  so  mollified  her 


1^6  THE    WIDOW  WTSE. 

that  she  readily  accepted  the  second  place. 
So  peace  was  restored,  and  the  rightful  pres- 
ident more  honored  than  before.  It  was  the 
fashion  to  have  literary  tastes  and  aspirations, 
and  Alliance  would  not  allow  itself  to  be 
behind  the  times.  To  be  sure,  the  young 
girls  yawned  behind  their  fans  at  the  English 
literature  lectures,  and  fancied  themselves 
undetected.  But  now  and  then  a  courageous 
girl  would  say  honestly  that  she  hated  the 
whole  thing. 

"  For  goodness'  sake ! "  said  one  gay  young 
girl  to  Mrs.  Wyse,  "  is  this  never  to  end  ? 
I  am  sure  I  cannot  bear  it  much  longer ;  I 
do  hope  there  is  no  intention  of  forming  a 
'Summer  School  of  Philosophy,'  but  I  begin 
to  fear  it." 

"You  poor,  little  rosebud,"  answered  Mrs. 
Wyse ;  "  I  do  pity  you,  and  I  shall  propose 
an  adjournment  until  the  autumn  at  our  next 
meeting.  I  expect  a  friend  from  Boston  next 
week  —  a  Miss  Cleveland.  She  is  bright  and 
clever,  and  I  am  sure  you  will  all  like  her. 
You  girls  must  help  me  entertain  her.  It  is 
almost  time  for  picnics  and  excursions.  I 


ALLIANCE.  177 

noticed  a  new  building  on  the  shore  of  our 
beautiful  little  lake.  Is  it  a  hall  ?  We  might 
have  dancing." 

"  Oh  !  yes,"  answered  the  young  lady.  "  It 
is  especially  for  summer  picnics,  where  we 
may  go  for  shelter.  We  can  dance  or  do 
anything  else  we  like." 

"  How  perfectly  lovely  ! "  said  Mrs.  Wyse. 
"  It  supplies  a  long-felt  want.  Now,  do  not 
forget  to  tell  the  girls  all  about  it,  and  we 
will  meet  at  the  clubroom  and  talk  it  all 
over,  and  plan  for  the  summer  ;  at  least,  the 
first  part  of  it.  I  suppose  most  of  us  will 
be  away  during  July  and.  August." 

Miss  Cleveland  did  not  reach  Alliance  until 
the  last  week  in  May,  and  after  her  arrival 
a  round  of  gayeties  was  begun,  which  was 
continued  until  the  last  of  June,  when  every- 
thing of  the  kind  came  to  a  sudden  stop. 

Miss  Cleveland  was  enjoying  her  visit 
immensely.  Mrs.  Wyse  and  her  mother 
spared  no  pains  to  be  agreeable.  The  fasci- 
nating widow  was  not  surprised  to  receive 
an  early  call  from  her  guest's  cousin,  Reginald 
Cleveland,  and  his  friend,  August  Brenner,  the 


178  THE   WIDOW 

young  German.  Indeed,  she  would  have  felt 
very  much  disappointed  had  they  not  come, 
for  they  had  been  assigned  parts  in  the  pro- 
gramme she  had  arranged.  She  received  the 
young  men  in  a  flatteringly  cordial  manner, 
and  Reginald  Cleveland  said :  — 

"  I  had  no  idea,  Mrs.  Wyse,  that  Alliance 
was  such  a  pretty  place.  We  are  on  our  way 
North,  but  we  have  resolved  to  stay  a  day  or 
two  and  look  it  over." 

"  Oh,  that  will  be  charming !  but  you  have 
seen  nothing  of  its  beauties,  which  lie  in  its 
surroundings.  We  shall  be  more  than  de- 
lighted to  point  them  out  to  you,"  said  the 
fair  widow,  flashing  a  smile  at  Brenner,  which 
electrified  him. 

She  was  dangerously  attractive  at  times,  and 
she  knew  well  her  power  over  the  young  Ger- 
man. She  had  not  told  her  mother  the  truth 
concerning  him  ;  for  she  knew  perfectly  well 
that  there  was  nothing  that  could  induce  him 
to  leave  his  native  country  while  she  remained 
in  it.  She  reasoned  that  one  excuse  was  as 
good  as  another,  until  she  got  ready  to  explain 
everything.  She  had  spoken  of  him,  as  she 


ALLIANCE.  1 79 

said,  because  she  wished  him  to  be  cordially 
received  by  her  mother. 

"We  must  treat  our  friends  to  a  drive 
around  our  beautiful  little  miniature  lake  to- 
morrow morning,"  she  said  to  Nana ;  "and  I 
am  sure  they  will  be  so  enchanted  that  we 
shall  be  able  to  persuade  them  to  stay  until 
Friday,  for  we  are  to  have  a  picnic  in  the  lovely 
grove  on  Thursday,  and  they  may  fish,  row, 
dance,  or  do  anything  else  they  like ;  and  last, 
but  not  least,  there  will  be  several  remarkably 
pretty  girls,  whose  acquaintance  they  will 
make,"  looking  persuasively  at  Brenner. 

Nana  looked  up,  surprised,  for  they  had 
planned  to  go  to  an  entirely  different  place 
on  that  day ;  and  Mrs.  Wyse,  suddenly  recol- 
lecting it,  said :  — 

"It  was  a  pet  plan  of  my  own,  and  was  to 
be  a  surprise  for  you,  my  dear ;  but  you  see  I 
had  to  tell  you  in  order  to  tempt  these  young 
gentlemen  to  stay  for  it." 

The  truth  is,  it  was  an  impulsive  determi- 
nation on  Mrs.  Wyse's  part,  formed  at  the 
moment  of  speaking.  Of  course,  both  young 
men  declared  that  no  such  inducement  was 


180  THE   WIDOW  WTSE. 

necessary.  They  were  only  too  glad  to  be 
invited  to  stay.  They  had  started  out  for  a 
pleasure  trip,  and  had  plenty  of  time  to  enjoy 
everything  as  they  went  along. 

They  were  very  enthusiastic  in  their  expres- 
sions of  admiration  of  the  beauty  of  the  scenery 
as  they  drove  around  the  pond  the  next  morn- 
ing, which  was,  indeed,  charming.  The  road 
was  through  lovely  woods,  through  which 
glimpses  of  its  shining  waters  were  seen  all 
the  way.  In  one  place  the  small  trees  had 
been  cut  down  to  form  a  grove,  and  there  had 
recently  been  erected  a  building,  with  a  small 
hall  in  the  second  story,  and  some  rooms  below 
fitted  up  for  the  convenience  of  pleasure 
parties. 

It  was  a  gay  affair  that  the  Widow  Wyse 
had  arranged  for  the  following  Thursday.  The 
young  ladies  were  all  charmed  by  the  fair 
young  German,  whose  good-nature  seemed 
inexhaustible.  His  laugh  rang  out  over  the 
water,  as  clear  and  joyous  as  a  child's.  In- 
deed, he  was  as  unlike  the  typical  German  as 
one  could  possibly  imagine.  He  had  a  smile 
and  a  gay  word  for  all.  Only  once  did  his 


ALLIANCE.  1 8  I 

face  become  cloudy.  He  had  tried  in  vain  for 
a  tete-a-tete  with  the  fair  widow,  and  when  he 
saw  her  stray  off  with  Colonel  Gilroy,  a  man 
whom  he  distrusted  the  first  moment  he  saw 
him,  he  could  not  bear  it,  and  started  off  alone 
in  the  opposite  direction,  but  not  until  Mrs. 
Wyse  had,  looking  back,  caught  sight  of  his 
face.  She  was  not  prepared  to  give  him  up, 
and  she  knew  better  than  to  try  him  too  far ; 
50  she  sauntered  on  a  little  way  with  the 
gallant  colonel,  and  managed  to  turn  him  over 
to  one  of  the  young  girls,  and  strayed  back 
alone,  as  if  by  accident,  to  where  young  Bren- 
ner was  sitting  apart  from,  and  out  of  sight  of, 
the  others,  with  a  most  disconsolate  look  on 
his  boyish  face. 

"Ah,  you  silly  boy !"  she  said,  tapping  him 
playfully  with  her  fan.  "  Do  you  want  every- 
body to  know  just  how  foolish  you  are  ? " 

"Ah,  Julia  !  "  he  answered,  with  tears  in  his 
voice,  "  how  cruel  you  are  !  " 

"No,  dear,"  she  answered,  caressingly;  "but 
I  cannot  allow  you  to  make  me  conspicuous. 
Come,  now,  let  us  go  back."  And  she  laid  her 
white  hand  upon  his  brow,  "  to  smoothe  out 
the  wrinkles,"  she  said. 


1 82  THE    V/IDOW    WTSE. 

The  ready  smiles  came  back  at  that  warm 
touch,  and  he  exclaimed,  in  a  transport  of 
joy:  — 

"  Heart's  dearest,  forgive  me  !  You  are  an 
angel,  and  I  will  never  doubt  you  again." 

"  Never  doubt  that  I  am  your  friend, 
August,"  she  answered. 

"  My  heart  craves  something  more  than 
friendship,"  he  said,  in  low,  passionate  tones, 
as  they  started  back  from  whence  they  came. 

"There,  now,  you  are  beginning  again,"  she 
said,  laughing.  "Do  you  want  to  drive  me  off 
with  that  horrid  Colonel  Gilroy  ?  Do  be  sen- 
sible, and  go  and  talk  with  that  pretty  girl  in 
blue.  She  looks  as  though  she  wanted  to  be 
amused,  and,"  shaking  her  finger  at  him, 
"don't  let  me  have  to  speak  to  you  again." 

He  started  off,  obediently,  making  a  wry  face 
as  he  did  so. 

Mrs.  Wyse  was  indefatigable.  She  planned 
entertainments  for  days  ahead,  and  carried 
them  out  successfully.  The  young  men  still 
lingered.  Reginald  Cleveland,  to  be  sure, 
urged  their  departure,  but  Brenner  would  not 
listen.  The  first  of  June  brought  Ethel  and 


ALLIANCE.  183 

Kitty,  to  visit  Mrs.  Onslow,  and  then  Reginald 
had  no  desire  to  go.  He  fell  in  love  with  the 
dear,  absurd  little  Kitty  at  once.  But  it  was 
a  hopeless  passion,  for  she  was  a  happy,  fun- 
loving  child  only.  To  be  sure,  she  was  but  six 
months  younger  than  Ethel,  but  there  were 
years  difference  in  experience  and  feeling. 
Lizzie  Highgate,  too,  came  home,  to  add  to  the 
circle ;  but,  contrary  to  the  expectations  of  the 
girls,  she  was  amiable  and  modest,  and  did  not 
try  her  peculiar  fascinations  upon  the  young 
men.  She  did  her  part  in  the  way  of  enter- 
taining the  strangers  in  a  quiet  way,  very 
unlike  herself,  and  Ethel  said,  wonderingly  :  — 

"There  is  certainly  improvement  there.  I 
only  hope  that  it  may  last." 

Lizzie  told  Mrs.  Wyse,  who  inquired  for  her 
brother,  that  he  was  going  to  camp  out  with 
Jack  I^enton  and  two  or  three  other  college 
fellows  during  the  summer,  and  would  be 
at  home  but  a  few  days  during  his  entire 
vacation. 

The  new  comers  were  charmed  with  August 
Brenner.  Indeed,  no  one  could  help  being. 
He  had  recovered  from  his  momentary  feeling 


184  THE    WIDOW    WTSE. 

of  jealousy,  and  was  himself  again  —  bright, 
happy,  joyous.  "That  horrid  Colonel  Gilroy" 
could  not  disturb  him  again.  He  gave  him 
not  a  moment's  thought.  It  is  very  true  that 
he  heard  whispers  now  and  then  against  the 
fair  Widow  Wyse ;  but  they  did  not  trouble 
him.  When  she  looked  at  him  with  those 
innocent  blue  eyes  he  could  not  think  her 
false.  She  seemed  as  guileless  as  a  child. 
She  was  good  and  pure  and  true.  She  had 
told  him,  not  in  words,  but  in  a  thousand  ways, 
that  she  loved  him,  and  he  would  not  doubt 
her. 

And  Ethel  and  Kitty  went  with  the  tide. 
Mrs.  Onslow  said,  one  morning,  as  they  were 
starting  off  on  some  excursion  :  — 

"  I  believe  you  came  to  visit  me,  young 
ladies,  but  I  see  you  only  at  breakfast  and 
dinner,  after  which  you  are  too  tired  and 
sleepy  to  talk." 

"  It  will  not  last  much  longer,  my  dear 
sister,"  said  Kitty :  "  Nana  Cleveland  goes 
to-morrow.  Her  cousin  goes  with  her,  as  es- 
cort. He  will  return  immediately,  and  go 
directly  to  the  mountains,  taking  Mr.  Brenner 
with  him." 


ALLIANCE.  185 

"  What  a  happy  disposition  your  German 
friend  has,"  said  Mrs.  Onslow,  who  had  seen 
him  several  times  during  his  calls  upon  her 
guests,  and  was  very  favorably  impressed  by 
him. 

"Yes,"  answered  Kitty,  "he  is  charming, 
and  I  should  fall  in  love  with  him  only  it 
would  be  useless,  as  he  has  eyes  for  nobody 
but  the  Widow  Wyse.  She  says  his  family 
worship  him." 

"  It  is  a  pity  they  are  not  here  to  prevent 
his  making  a  fool  of  himself,"  said  Mrs. 
Onslow. 

Kitty  stared  at  her  sister. 

"  What  is  the  matter  wifh  you,  Margaret  ? 
I  never  heard  you  speak  like  that  before.  I 
could  imagine  Nana  Cleveland  making  that 
remark,  but  not  you.  You  must  be  ill." 

"On  the  contrary,"  said  Mrs.  Onslow,  laugh- 
ing, "  I  feel  particularly  well  this  morning.  I 
do  not  mean  to  be  uncharitable,  but  I  spoke 
exactly  as  I  felt." 

Nana  Cleveland  went  back  to  Boston,  and 
from  thence  to  Newport.  She  asked  the 
Widow  Wyse  to  visit  her  there;  but  she  had 


1 86  THE   WIDOW  WTSE. 

planned  to  visit  Nana  in  Boston,  as  it  suited 
her  better,  so  she  said:  — 

"Don't  ask  me, dear;  it  will  be  such  a  temp- 
tation. I  have  promised  mamma  that  I  will 
go  with  her  to  a  quiet  place  among  the  mount- 
ains, and  I  make  it  a  point  never  to  disappoint 
her.  But  you  have  made  us  very  happy  by 
your  little  visit,  dear  Nana,  and  if,  by  any 
chance,  I  find  myself  near  your  charming 
'city  by  the  sea,'  I  shall  certainly  look  in 
upon  you,  if  only  for  an  hour."  Thus  leaving 
the  way  open  for  a  change  in  her  plans,  if 
she  should  so  desire. 

"  My  dear  Ethel,"  said  Mrs.  Onslow,  one 
morning,  a  few  days  after  this,  "you  will 
pardon  me,  I  am  sure,  for  speaking  plainly. 
I  do  not  like  your  intimacy  with  Mrs.  Wyse. 
I  cannot  understand  why  you  should  take  such 
an  interest  in  her.  I  believe  her  to  be  un- 
worthy your  friendship,  and  that  she  is  not  to 
be  trusted.  She  uses  her  friends  to  further 
her  own  ends,  and  I  want  to  put  you  on  your 
guard  with  regard  to  her.  I  do  not  think  she 
would  try  to  injure  you,  unless  you  stood  in 
her  way ;  but  she  would  crush  you  under  her 


ALLIANCE.  187 

feet  if  she  thought  that  she  could  thereby 
raise  herself  in  any  degree." 

"Thank  you,  dear  Mrs.  Onslow,  for  speak- 
ing," said  Ethel;  "but  do  not  fear  for  me.  I 
understand  her  thoroughly.  She  cannot  hurt 
me." 

"  But  you  told  Kitty  that  you  liked  her  "  — 

"  No,  pardon  me,"  interrupted  Ethel.  "  I 
said  that  I  liked  to  hear  her  talk,  and  I  do. 
She  amuses  me.  I  said,  also,  that  I  knew  just 
where  to  find  her,  and  I  do.  If  she  says  that 
a  thing  is  so  to-day,  she  will  swear,  by  all  the 
gods,  that  it  isrit  so  to-morrow.  I  have  been 
making  a  study  of  her,  and  find  it  remarkably 
interesting.  What  a  story  I  might  write  !  " 

"Oh,  if  you  are  writing  a  book,"  said  Mrs. 
Onslow,  laughing,  "  I  have  nothing  more  to 
say.  Put  her  in  by  all  means.  Only,  as  truth 
is  stranger  than  fiction,  your  readers  would 
not  believe  what  you  could  say  of  her.  I 
hear  them  say  now :  '  What  an  exaggerated 
character.' " 

"  If  I  were  writing  a  book,"  said  Ethel,  "  I 
should  not  dare  to  put  in  the  half  I  might." 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

PLANS    AND    PROJECTS. 

"I  SHOULD  think  you  would  tire  of  this 
everlasting  round  of  gayety,"  said  Mrs.  Houl- 
ton,  one  morning,  as  her  daughter  was  pre- 
paring to  go  out.  "  I  do  not  wish  to  inter- 
fere, but  it  seems  to  me  that  you  are  wasting 
a  good  deal  of  time  upon  young  Brenner.  I 
cannot  divine  your  motive.  You  must  have 
one,  for  you  are  not  in  the  habit  of  troubling 
yourself  for  the  benefit  of  other  people.  You 
certainly  do  not  want  to  marry  him,  for  he 
must  be  younger  than  you  are  "  — 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself  about  my  age,  if 
you  please,  mamma,  or  I  may  retaliate,"  said 
the  amiable  Mrs.  Wyse.  "  I  don't  mind  telling 
you,  however,  that  it  is  quite  possible  that  I 
may  want  to  marry  him.  It  depends,"  she 
added,  mysteriously. 

"  Oh,  Julia  !  "  said  her  mother.  "  You  can- 
not be  so  foolish.  He  is  too  young  for  you, 
and  you  know  nothing  about  him.  He  seems 


PLANS  AND  PROJECTS.  189 

educated  and  refined,  but  he  is  probably  an 
adventurer  after  your  money." 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  ha !  I  positively  cannot  help 
laughing.  'After  my  money1!  That  is  very 
good  indeed."  Then  after  a  pause,  she  said  : 
"  I  do  wish,  mamma,  that  you  would  allow  me 
to  manage  my  affairs  in  my  own  way.  I  did 
not  spend  two  years  abroad  for  nothing. 
August  Brenner  belongs  to  a  family  of  wealth 
and  eminence,  and  he  is  fairly  worshiped  at 
home.  That  ought  to  satisfy  you  as  far  as  he 
is  concerned.  I  married  Archibald  Wyse  to 
please  you.  I  shall  marry  a  second  time  to 
please  myself." 

"Now,  Julia,"  said  her  mother,  "you  are 
very  unkind.  I  should  like  to  have  you  tell 
me  what  you  would  have  done  without  Archi- 
bald Wyse's  money.  You  certainly  would 
never  have  seen  Germany." 

"  I  was  ungenerous,"  said  Mrs.  Wyse,  see- 
ing that  her  mamma  was  really  pained.  "  I  '11 
take  it  all  back,  and  forgive  you,  although  I 
don't  think  I  should  be -quite  as  ready  to  do 
so  if  he  had  not  been  considerate  enough  to 
make  me  his  widow." 


190 


THE   WIDOW  WTSE. 


"  Oh,  Julia  !  "  said  Mrs.  Houlton.  "  It  is 
dreadful  to  hear  you  talk  so.  Sometimes  you 
positively  shock  me." 

"  Poor  mamma,"  said  her  daughter,  mock- 
ingly. "  You  should  be  willing  to  let  me  tell 
the  truth  occasionally.  And,  as  I  am  in  the 
mood  for  it,  perhaps  a  little  more  will  not  be 
amiss.  You  have  doubtless  thought  me  very 
penurious  many  times  during  the  last  two 
years.  Being  the  widow  of  the  rick  Archibald 
Wyse,  I  ought  surely  to  have  done  something 
for  my  impecunious  mamma." 

"  I  am  sure  I  have  never  complained,"  said 
Mrs.  Houlton. 

"Very  true,  mamma,"  answered  her  daugh- 
ter ;  "  but  you  have  thought  it,  all  the  same. 
Now  I  am  going  to  give  you  another  shock. 
I  told  you  one  of  my  pretty  little  fibs  con- 
cerning the  reason  of  my  return  home.  I 
should  have  remained  abroad  much  longer 
had  I  been  the  wealthy  widow  that  you  and 
my  friends  think  me.  Archibald  Wyse  was 
not  the  rich  man  he  was  represented  to  be, 
and  it  is  absolutely  necessary  for  me  to  replen- 
ish my  purse.  I  have  thought  the  matter  over, 


\ 


PLANS  AND  PROJECTS.  191 

and  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  there 
is  no  other  way  to  do  it  than  by  marriage.  If 
you  can  suggest  any  other  way,  I  shall  be 
infinitely  obliged  to  you.  But  of  one  thing 
you  may  be  sure.  If  I  do  marry,  I  shall  not 
allow  myself  to  be  again  deceived." 

This  revelation  took  Mrs.  Houlton's  breath 
away.  She  could  not  speak. 

"  Poor  mamma,"  said  Mrs.  Wyse.  "  I  am 
really  sorry  for  you,  but  I  am  a  good  deal 
sorrier  for  myself.  Now  I  am  going  to  give 
you  a  hint  as  to  what  I  propose  to  do.  I  met 
Mr.  Apthorpe  in  Paris  last  year,  and  again  in 
Boston  last  winter." 

"  Mr.  Richard  Apthorpe  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Houl- 
ton.  "  He  is  very  talented,  is  he  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Mrs.  Wyse,  "  and,  what  is 
vastly  more  to  the  purpose,  he  is  very 
wealthy." 

"  But  he  is  as  old  as  Archibald  Wyse," 
objected  Mrs.  Houlton. 

"It  was  not.  Archibald  Wyse's  age  that  I 
objected  to  as  much  as  his  lack  of  wealth," 
said  the  young  widow,  laughing. 

"  But  is  not  Mr.  Richard  Apthorpe  pretty 
high  game  for  you  ?  "  said  her  mother. 


IQ2  THE   WIDOW    WTSE. 

"  No  slang,  if  you  please,  mamma,"  said  her 
daughter.  "  We  must  cultivate  the  graces  to 
the  utmost.  The  only  reason  that  I  consented 
to  go  to  a  quiet  place  with  you  this  summer 
was  to  get  time  to  read  his  books.  It  will 
almost  kill  me,  but  I  shall  do  it.  Thank  my 
lucky  stars,  I  have  a  tolerable  memory.  Per- 
haps they  will  disclose  a  weak  spot  to  me. 
Then  my  assault  will  be  the  easier.  I  suppose 
you  have  been  rather  tried  this  summer,  but 
you  have  behaved  beautifully,  and  you  shall 
not  regret  it ;  I  have  only  a  few  days  more  in 
which  to  enjoy  my  flirtations  with  August 
Brenner  and  Colonel  Gilroy  "  — 

"You  should  have  nothing  whatever  to  do 
with  Colonel  Gilroy,  Julia,"  said  Mrs.  Houlton. 
"You  know  that  he  is  thoroughly  unprin- 
cipled." 

"  Never  mind,  mamma,"  said  Mrs.  Wyse ; 
"  as  long  as  he  is  received  into  the  same 
society  as  ourselves  it  won't  do  to  quarrel 
with  him ;  but  you  need  not  be  troubled ;  I 
could  n't  marry  him,  for  he  is  as  poor  as  a 
church  mouse.  I  shall  not  carry  it  too  far. 
Only  just  far  enough  to  pique  the  charming 


PLANS  AND  PROJECTS.  193 

August.  I  shall  prepare  for  a  vigorous  cam- 
paign in  the  autumn.  You  think  I  am  aiming 
too  high,  but  what  if  I  win  ?  " 

"  Heaven  grant  that  you  may ! "  piously 
remarked  Mrs.  Houlton;  "but,  on  the  other 
hand,  what  if  you  fail  ? " 

"  Then,"  answered  the  fair  Widow  Wyse, 
"  I  still  have  my  blue-eyed  August." 

Poor  August  !  He  had  entered  the  door, 
which  had  been  left  open,  the  morning  being 
very  warm,  and  had  heard  every  word  of  the 
last  part  of  the  conversation.  He  would  have 
scorned  to  listen,  but  a  remark  from  the  woman 
he  loved  concerning  himself  compelled  him 
to  pause.  He  was  so  completely  astonished 
that  he  had  not  the  power  to  move  ;  as  she^ 
ceased  speaking,  however,  he  gathered  up  his 
strength  and  went  noiselessly  out,  hardly 
knowing  or  caring  which  way  he  went.  He 
walked  slowly  in  the  direction  of  the  beautiful 
pond,  upon  whose  bosom  he  had  spent  so 
many  happy  hours.  Soon  he  quickened  his 
pace,  and,  with  feverish  eagerness,  hurried  on, 
looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left. 

Mrs.  Wyse,  glancing  out  of  the  window,  saw 


194  THE  WIDOW  WTSE. 

him  leave  the  house,  and,  catching  a  glimpse  of 
his  face,  in  which  despair  was  plainly  written, 
turned  to  her  mother,  and  said,  excitedly  :  — 

"  Oh,  mamma !  it  was  August.  He  must 
have  heard.  What  shall  I  do  ?  Don't  speak," 
putting  her  hand  to  her  head.  "  Let  me 
think."  Then,  after  a  pause,  she  started  up, 
saying,  "  Ring  for  Ninette.  There  is  no  time 
to  lose." 

"  Ninette,  my  hat  and  wrap ;  and  tell 
Thomas  to  bring  around  the  carriage  at 
once." 

"But,  my  love,"  said  the  elder  widow, 
alarmed,  "think  what  you  are  doing.  Where 
are  you  going  ? " 

"Don't  be  silly,  mamma,"  answered  her 
daughter;  "I  am  not  going  to  drown  myself." 
(Was  it  intuition  that  made  her  say  that  ?) 
"  I  am  simply  going  to  call  upon  Miss  Town- 
send  ;  and  I  want  you  to  remember  that  poor 
August  was  very  fond  of  her,  and  that,  what- 
ever happens,  I  am  not  to  blame." 

Mrs.  Houlton  noticed  that  she  spoke  of  the 
young  German  in  the  past  tense. 

"  It  is  an  omen  !  "    she  exclaimed.     "  Some- 


PLANS  AND  PR OJE CTS.  195 

thing  dreadful  is  going  to  happen.  I  never 
saw  Julia  so  excited." 

"  You  little  dear !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wyse, 
enthusiastically,  as  Ethel  came  down  to  greet 
her  visitor.  "  What  a  charming  color  you 
have ! " 

Then,  turning  to  Kitty,  she  went  on, 
archly :  — 

"If  our  blue-eyed  German  could  only  see 
her  now  he  would  be  more  distracted  than 
ever." 

"Why  do  you  say  that,  Mrs.  Wyse,"  said 
Ethel,  "when  you  know  perfectly  well  that  it 
is  you  he  admires  ?  "  •, 

"  And  you  know  perfectly  well  that  it  is  you 
he  admires,"  mimicked  Mrs.  Wyse.  "It  is  only 
poor  me  who  hears  his  secrets.  Ah,  you  little 
coquette !  you  will  make  him  do  something 
desperate  yet.  He  has  been  perfectly  wild 
ever  since  you  came." 

Then  she  added,  more  seriously :  — 

"  Don't  play  with  him,  dear,  for  he  is  a  nice 
fellow,  and  I  am  very  fond  of  him.  I  knew 
him  in  Germany,  you  know." 

"What  nonsense  you  are   talking!"    began 


196  THE   WIDOW  WTSE. 

poor  Ethel ;  but  Mrs.  Wyse  interrupted  her  by 
saying :  — 

"Now  tell  me  all  about  your  visit  with 
whom  Nana  Cleveland  calls  'that  delightful 
old  roaring  lion/  you  fortunate  girl.  I  have 
not  had  time  to  ask  you  before." 

"  She  has  well  named  him,  Mrs.  Wyse," 
said  Ethel,  coldly ;  "  for  he  is  the  king  of  men, 
as  the  lion  is  the  king  of  beasts." 

"And  his  brother,  too,  is  very  charming,  is 
he  not  ?  " 

This  was  too  much.  Ethel  had  striven  to 
be  polite  since  her  visitor's  first  absurd  hints 
with  regard  to  August  Brenner ;  but  now  she 
was  ice  itself,  as  she  answered :  — 

"Everybody  was  very  kind  to  me  at  Mr. 
Apthorpe's  ;  but  I  saw  so  little  of  his  brother 
that  I  cannot  satisfy  your  curiosity  with  regard 
to  him." 

The  Widow  Wyse  saw  that  Ethel  was  in  no 
mood  to  be  trifled  with,  so  she  began  to  talk 
to  Kitty.  She  soon  took  her  leave,  however, 
saying,  — 

"  I  see  you  are  dressed  for  a  drive,  so  I  will 
not  detain  you." 


PLANS  AND  PROJECTS.  197 

From  Mrs.  Onslow's  Mrs.  Wyse  drove  di- 
rectly to  see  her  dear  friend,  Lizzie  Highgate ; 
and,  during  their  long,  confidential  chat,  she 
assured  her  feminine  admirer  that  it  was  her 
solemn  belief  that  Ethel  Tovvnsend  was  amus- 
ing herself  with  poor  August  Brenner,  who 
was  desperately  in  love  with  her. 

"Nonsense!"  said  Lizzie;  "he  has  eyes 
only  for  you.  Ethel  Townsend  is  undoubtedly 
pretty,  but  she  lacks  your  agreeable  manners ; 
and  August  Brenner  is  a  young  man  of  dis- 
cernment." 

"That  shows  what  a  perfect  little  goose  you 
are,  Lizzie,"  said  the  agreeable  Mrs.  Wyse. 
"He  knows  that  I  am  his  friend.  I  have  told 
him  so  many  times,  and  he  naturally  confides 
in  me ;  but  it  is  only  as  a  friend,  and  so  you 
may  inform  anybody  who  speaks  of  this  matter. 
You  ought  to  know  me  better  than  to  suppose, 
for  an  instant,  that  I  would  encourage  him  in 
any  such  foolishness  were  he  inclined  to  show  it, 
which,  I  assure  you,  he  is  not.  Please  to  under- 
stand, Lizzie,  once  for  all,  that  there  is  not  a 
particle  of  truth  in  your  surmise.  I  have  been 
annoyed  by  hearing  the  same  thing  from  Ethel 


198  THE   WIDOW  WTSE. 

Townsend  herself ;  but  I  understand  it  per- 
fectly, coming  from  her,  and  so  I  have  just 
told  her.  It  is  simply  a  blind.  But  from  you 
it  is  different." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  poor  Lizzie.  "  I  did 
not  understand  it  ;  and  I  shall  take  pains  to 
correct  the  general  impression  wherever  I  go." 

This  was  exactly  what  the  Widow  Wyse 
expected  and  desired ;  and  she  started  for 
home,  satisfied  with  her  morning's  work. 

"  I  believe  that  my  head  aches  too  badly  to 
drive  this  morning,"  said  Kitty,  as  Mrs.  Wyse 
left  the  house. 

"Then  I  will  not  go,"  said  Ethel;  "but, 
instead,  will  bathe  your  head  and  try  to  cure  it. 
I  am  a  good  deal  of  a  doctor." 

"Oh,  no!"  said  Kitty.  "Gertie  will  be  dis- 
appointed if  you  do  not  go.  I  shall  lie  down 
for  a  little  while,  and  if  I  can  get  a  half -hour's 
sleep,  my  head  will  be  all  right." 

So  they  started  off. 

"  Where  shall  we  go,  dear  ?  "  asked  Ethel  of 
the  little  girl. 

"  Wound  the  pond,"  answered  she. 

" '  Wound  the  pond '  it  shall  be,"  as  she 
gave  the  order  to  the  coachman. 


PLANS  AND  PROJECTS.  199 

When  they  reached  the  woods  he  was  told  to 
drive  more  slowly,  that  they  might  enjoy  the 
cool  shade.  Ethel  descended  from  the  carriage 
many  times  to  gather  ferns  and  wild  flowers, 
which  grew  in  abundance  everywhere,  for  her 
young  friend.  Gertrude  was  a  bright,  merry, 
little  thing,  and  was  very  fond  of  Ethel,  who 
thoroughly  enjoyed  her  small  companion's  art- 
less talk.  She  was  a  revelation  to  her.  Being 
wholly  unaccustomed  to  children  she  was 
amazed  to  find  her  so  clever  of  speech. 

"  Now  you  must  tell  me  which  you  think  is 
the  prettiest  view,  and  I  will  tell  you  which  I 
think  is  the  prettiest,"  said  Gertrude  as  they 
drove  along. 

"Very  well,"  said  Ethel,  amused  and  looking 
eagerly  about.  Soon  they  came  to  an  opening 
in  the  woods,  through  which  were  lovely 
glimpses  of  the  water. 

"  Stop  a  moment,  James,"  she  said.  "  I  think 
it  would  be  hard  to  find  a  finer  view  than 
this." 

"  It  is  very  pretty,"  said  the  child,  "  but  I 
think  there  is  a  prettier  one." 

"Drive  along  then,"  said  Ethel,  "and  we 
will  find  it."  They  soon  began  an  ascent. 


2OO  THE    WIDOW  WTSE. 

"  Now,  when  we  get  to  the  top  of  this  hill," 
said  the  child,  confidently,  "you  will  see  it." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Ethel,  as  they  reached 
the  place,  "  for  we  can  not  only  see  the  water, 
but  the  fields  and  mountain  beyond." 

"Yes,"  said  Gertrude,  "I  knew  you  would 
say  so.  I  like  that  mountain.  I  'should  like 
to  be  way  up  on  the  top  of  it.  I  could  touch 
those  white  clouds  and  I  could  see  all  over 
the  world,  could  n't  I  ?  " 

"  Not  quite  so  far  as  that,  dear,"  answered 
Ethel,  "  but  I  am  sure  you  could  see  a  great 
distance.  The  view  from  the  top  must  be 
grand.  But  we  must  not  linger  here,  or  we 
shall  not  be  back  in  season  for  luncheon,  and 
my  little  girl  must  be  hungry  ;  besides,  these 
pretty  flowers  are  beginning  to  droop." 

As  they  reached  the  bend  in  the  road  nearest 
the  pond,  Ethel  noticed  two  men  leaning  over 
the  prostrate  form  of  another.  She  stopped 
the  carriage,  fearing  that  something  was  wrong 
and  that  assistance  might  be  needed.  She 
descended  from  the  carriage  and  walked  quickly 
toward  the  spot.  One  of  the  men,  seeing  her, 
raised  his  hand  warningly,  but  it  was  too  late. 


PLANS  AND  PROJECTS.  2OI 

She  gave  a  low  cry  of  horror  as  she  recognized 
in  the  white,  upturned  face  the  features  of 
August  Brenner.  She  staggered  as  though 
about  to  fall  as  the  man  caught  her  and  led 
her  back  to  the  carriage  just  as  two  men 
drove  up. 

"There  is  the  doctor,  miss,"  said  the  man. 
"  We  have  done  all  we  could  for  him,  but  I  am 
afraid  it 's  of  no  use." 

"  Oh,  can 't  you  do  something,  Doctor  ? '' 
said  Ethel,  appealing  to  him  in  agonized  tones. 
"You  must  do  something  for  him  !  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  child,  I  '11  do  all  that  mortal 
can,"  said  he,  recognizing  her  as  Mrs.  Onslow's 
guest.  Then  to  the  coachman  :  "  Take  her 
home  at  once,''  and  hurried  to  the  drowned 
man. 

How  Ethel  got  home  she  did  not  know. 
She  saw  nothing  but  August  Brenner's  white 
face  and  fixed,  staring  eyes. 

Mrs.  Onslow  found  her,  a  few  minutes  after 
her  return,  leaning  against  a  marble  statue, 
herself  almost  as  white  as  her  support.  Her 
clenched  hands  and  wild,  frightened  eyes 
alarmed  her  hostess.  She  put  her  arms 
tenderly  around  her,  saying,  — 


2O2  THE    WIDOW  WTSE. 


"  Ethel,  dear,  what  is  it  ?  Can't  you  tell 
me  ?  " 

Ethel  made  an  effort  to  speak,  but  she  could 
not,  ahd  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  she 
fainted,  losing  consciousness  entirely. 
,  The  news  spread  like  wildfire.  Ninette, 
who  was  out  with  her  pets,  heard  of  it  before 
Mrs.  Wyse's  return,  and  she  met  her  mistress, 
who  seemed  greatly  excited,  with  red,  swollen 
eyes.  He  had  been  kind  to  her,  and  she  had 
had  little  enough  of  real  kindness  in  her  life, 
heaven  knows  !  She  poured  forth  a  volume  of 
mingled  French  and  English,  and  much  to 
Mrs.  Wyse's  discomfort  ended  by  calling  that 
lady  a  murderess. 

Mrs.  Wyse's  voice  was  very  unsteady,  as  she 
said  :  — 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Ninette,  but 
you  have  been  impertinent  before,  and  I  have 
overlooked  it,  but  I  shall  bear  it  no  longer. 
Go  to  your  room  at  once  and  prepare  to 
leave  me !  " 

"  Vary  well,  madame.  I  s'all  find  some  ozer 
place.  Adieu,  madame,"  and  with  a  mocking 
courtesy  she  left  the  room. 


PLANS  AND  PROJECTS.  203 

Mrs.  Wyse  turned  to  her  mother  and  said, 
passionately  :  — 

"  To  think  of  Ninette's  proving  ungrateful, 
after  all  I  have  done  for  her  ;  but  I  have  borne 
too  much  from  her,  and  I  shall  be  glad  to  get 
rid  of  her." 

"  But,  my  dear,"  said  her  more  politic 
mother,  "are  you  wise  in  sending  her  off  like 
this  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  it  is  a  poor  time 
to  do  it.  There  are  plenty  of  ladies  who  will 
be  glad  of  her  services.  She  will  have  no 
difficulty  in  finding  another  place,  and  she 
knows  it  very  well ;  and  you  can  imagine  what 
she  will  say  of  you.  You  know  best,  of 
course,  what  you  want  to  do.  I  only  offer  the 
suggestion." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  her  daughter,  wearily. 
"  If  I  could  only  send  her  back  to  Paris  ;  but 
she  will  not  go,  and  she  will  make  me  all  the 
trouble  she  can.  There  was  never  anybody 
as  hardly  used  as  I  have  been." 

And  she  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears. 

To  tell  the  truth,  the  events  of  the  last  few 
hours  had  so  worn  upon  her  nerves  that  she 
could  not  control  herself,  and  she  fell  upon  the 
sofa  in  violent  hysterics. 


204  THE  WIDOW  WTSE. 

Mrs.  Houlton  ran  this  way  and  that  for 
restoratives.  She  was  very  much  frightened, 
and  rang  sharply  for  Ninette ;  but  no  Ninette 
appeared.  She  rang  again  and  again  to  no 
purpose,  and  she  was  forced  to  go  for  her. 
She  found  her  in  her  room,  putting  various 
things  into  her  boxes. 

"Why  do  you  not  come  when  I  ring  for 
you  ? "  demanded  Mrs.  Houlton,  indignantly. 

"  I  am  no  longer  in  madame's  service,"  said 
Ninette,  proudly. 

"  How  can  you  be  so  unfeeling  when  she 
has  done  so  much  for  you  ? "  said  Mrs.  Houl- 
ton, half  crying.  "  She  is  ill,  —  dying,  per- 
haps,—  and  I  don't  know  what  to  do  for  her." 

On  hearing  this,  Ninette  softened  and  ran 
quickly  down  to  her  mistress.  They  loosened 
her  clothing,  and  rubbed  her  cold  hands, 
giving  her  cordials  as  soon  as  she  was  able 
to  swallow. 

Mrs  Wyse  did  not  often  indulge  in  this 
particular  kind  of  weakness,  and  Ninette  was 
frightened  also.  After  she  had  fallen  into  an 
uneasy  slumber,  Mrs.  Houlton  improved  the 
opportunity  to  say  :  — 


PLANS  AND  PROJECTS.  205 

"  You  were  very  cruel  to  say  what  you  did, 
Ninette.  You  see,"  she  went  on,  confiden- 
tially, "  that,  being  an  old  friend,  this  young 
man's  death  will  be  very  hard  for  her  to  bear. 
And  to  think  of  your  accusing  her  of  being 
the  cause  of  it !  It  is  not  true,  and  I  cannot 
think  why  you  should  have  imagined  it." 

"  Oh,  I  am  vary  sorry !  "  said  the  tender- 
hearted Ninette.  "It  was  vary  wicked.  I 
will  beg  madame's  pardon." 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Houlton  ;  "  it  will  be  better 
to  say  nothing  about  it.  She  was  so  excited 
at  the  time  that  she  probably  will  not  remem- 
ber it,  and  I  am  sure  it  would  make  her  worse 
to  bring  it  all  back  again.  Do  not  speak  of  it, 
even,  and,  above  all  things,  Ninette,"  said  the 
wily  woman,  "promise  me  to  say  nothing  to 
anybody  else  of  your  foolish  suspicions.  It 
would  injure  her  a  good  deal  if  you  did." 

"Nevare,  nevare ! "    said   Ninette,  solemnly. 

Mrs.  Houlton  sent  the  maid  out  of  the  room 
to  fetch  something,  when  she  saw  signs  of  her 
daughter's  awakening,  and  whispered  to  her, 
hurriedly :  — 

"  Say  nothing  to  Ninette.  Treat  her  as 
usual." 


2O6  THE    WIDOW  WTSE. 

And  when  that  repentant  person  came  back 
and  asked,  tenderly,  "  How  does  madame  find 
herself  ?  "  Mrs.  Wyse  answered  :  — 

"Better,  thank  you.  You  are  a  good  girl, 
Ninette,  and  I  shall  not  forget  it.  You  need 
not  stay  now.  You  must  be  tired.  Mamma 
says  that  you  have  done  everything  for  me. 
You  had  better  go  out  and  take  the  air ;  it 
will  do  you  good." 

"Madame  is  vary  kind,"  said  Ninette,  with- 
drawing. 

And  so  peace  was  made ;  and  a  few  days 
after,  Ninette  might  have  been  seen  standing 
before  her  little  mirror,  admiring  herself,  as 
well  as  some  pretty  articles  of  jewelry  which 
her  mistress  had  just  given  her. 

Ethel  was  prostrated  by  a  low,  nervous  fever, 
the  result  of  the  shock  she  received  on  that 
fatal  day. 

"What  a  dreadful  woman!"  she  exclaimed, 
in  speaking  of  the  sad  event  for  the  first  time. 
"  Poor  August !  he  was  innocent  as  heaven, 
and  she  as  false  as  hell." 

"Don't  think  about  it,  dear,"  said  Mrs. 
Onslow,  soothingly. 


PLANS  AND  PROJECTS.  2OJ 

But  she  could  not  help  it.  His  love  was  so 
pathetic,  and  his  death  so  tragic. 

"I  thought  I  knew  her,"  she  said;  "but  I 
did  not.  I  could  not  conceive  of  a  woman  so 
false,  so  base." 

She  had  overheard  enough  of  their  conversa- 
tion to  understand  perfectly  his  feelings  toward 
her,  and  she  felt  sure  that  her  cruel  deception 
was  the  cause  of  his  death. 

Hearing  Mr.  Onslow  say  to  his  wife,  "Mr. 
Reginald  Cleveland  will  take  charge  of  the 
body,"  she  said,  with  quivering  lips:  — 

"  How  strange,  how  horrible,  to  speak  of  one 
so  lately  full  of  life  and  joyousness,  as  'the 
body ' ! " 

"  It  is  dreadful,  Margaret !  "  said  poor  Kitty, 
tearfully,  when  she  found  her  sister  alone. 
"  Do  you  suppose  she  did  really  care  for  him  ? 
I  heard  her  moaning  and  sobbing  in  her  sleep, 
last  night.  She  will  die  if  she  goes  on  so." 

"  I  do  not  quite  understand  it,  dear,"  an- 
swered her  sister.  "  I  hope  she  will  be  better 
when  she  gets  away  from  this  place.  The 
doctor  said  this  morning  that  she  must  go  as 
soon  as  she  is  able  to  travel.  You  must  take 
her  home,  and  let  her  have  rest  and  quiet." 


2O8  THE   WIDOW  WYSE. 

"  Kitty,  dear,"  said  Ethel,  a  few  days  later, 
"what  was  said  in  the  papers  of  this  dread- 
ful —  accident  ? " 

"  Oh !  there  were  long  notices  of  it,"  an- 
swered Kitty,  "  and  a  good  many  surmises ; 
but  it  seemed  to  be  the  general  opinion  that 
he  slipped  from  the  rocks  near  where  they 
found  him." 

"  Please  send  the  papers  to  papa.  I  cannot 
write  about  it,  and  I  should  like  him  to  know," 
said  Ethel.  After  which  the  subject  was 
dropped,  and  not  mentioned  again. 

Mrs.  Wyse  called  before  Ethel  went  away. 
She  was  paler  than  usual,  and  seemed  quite 
subdued. 

"  How  is  the  poor  child  ? "  she  asked  of 
Mrs.  Onslow.  "  I  am  so  sorry  for  her.  It  is 
dreadful  for  us  all,  but  particularly  so  for  her. 
May  I  see  her  ?" 

"  I  do  not  tTiink  that  she  will  feel  equal  to 
seeing  you  this  morning ;  but  I  will  let  her 
know  that  you  are  here,"  said  Mrs.  Onslow, 
leaving  the  room. 

"Ethel,  dear,"  she  said,  on  reaching  the 
chamber,  "  Mrs.  Wyse  is  below,  and  wishes  to 
see  you.  What  shall  I  say  to  her  ? " 


PLANS  AND  PROJECTS.  209 

"  Oh,  I  cannot  see  her !  "  said  poor  Ethel. 
"  and  you  must  tell  her  so.  Her  name,  even, 
causes  a  feeling  of  suffocation  here,"  putting 
her  hand  on  her  heart. 

It  was  a  sad  ending  to  her  otherwise  pleas- 
ant visit ;  and  as  she  said  good-by  to  Mrs. 
Onslow,  she  felt  that  she  should  never  again 
see  her  in  her  lovely  country  home. 

Ethel  and  Kitty  spent  two  months  of  perfect 
rest  and  quiet.  Mrs.  Brewster  felt  that  they 
had  had  excitement  enough  for  the  summer, 
and  she  gave  up  all  thought  of  entertainments 
for  them.  Ethel  slowly  recovered  her  strength, 
and  as  that  came  back,  her  spirits  in  a  measure 
returned,  though  she  felt  that  she  should 
never  be  quite  so  light-hearted  as  she  had  been. 
She  had  learned  a  lesson  which  she  would 
never  forget.  She  had  long  talks  with  Mrs. 
Brewster,  who  endeavored  to  bring  her  out  of 
the  morbid  state  into  which  she  had  fallen. 

"  Of  what  are  you  thinking,  my  dear  f " 
asked  Mrs.  Brewster  one  morning,  seeing  a 
far-off  look  in  her  eyes.  "  It  is  n't  good  for 
a  young  lady  to  think  too  much." 

"  It  would  be  better  for  ^ome  of  us,  if  we 


2IO  THE   WIDOW    WTSE. 

thought  more  than  we  do,"  answered  Ethel. 
"  I  was  thinking,  as  you  spoke,  how  strange  it 
was  that  the  world  should  applaud  what  I 
believe  it  should  wholly  condemn.  Am  I  un- 
charitable ?  I  believe  some  of  my  friends 
think  me  so,  but  if  I  am,  I  must  have  had 
wrong  teaching  all  my  life.  I  wish  I  did  not 
begin  to  analyze  people  as  soon  as  I  meet 
them,  but  I  cannot  help  it.  I  have  been  taught 
to  hate  any  thing  low  or  base  or  false,  and  if 
I  detect  a  false  note  in  the  music  of  a  person's 
conversation,  it  shocks  my  moral  nerves.  A 
lie  is  no  less  a  lie  because  it  has  a  fanciful 
dress  of  words.  I  was  taught  that  a  lie  is  an 
intention  to  deceive,  and  that  a  person  may 
tell  a  falsehood  without  uttering  a  syllable. 
An  example  comes  to  my  mind  now.  One 
day  last  summer  Mrs.  Wyse  gave  'Lizzie. 
Highgate  to  understand  by  her  manner  that 
a  certain  story  was  true,  when  she  knew  per- 
fectly well  that  it  was  not.  I  remonstrated 
with  her,  and  she  answered,  laughing  at  her 
own  shrewdness :  '  I  am  not  responsible  for 
what  Lizzie  Highgate  thinks.  I  did  not  say  a 
word.'  Now,  I  contend  that  she  was  respon- 


PLANS  AND  PROJECTS.  2  I  I 

sible.  That,  by  her  manner,  she  deliberately 
deceived  Lizzie.  She  did  not  want  her  to  know 
the  truth." 

"Well,  my  dear,"  answered  Mrs.  Brewster. 
"We  must  take  the  world  as  we  find  it,  and 
not  quarrel  too  much  with  poor,  weak,  human 
nature.  Mrs.  Wyse  is  a  woman  of  the  world, 
and  she  has  a  certain  pleasing  manner  which 
makes  her  popular.  It  is  not  necessary  to  be 
literally  and  painfully  truthful,  at  all  times. 
We  must  be  as  charitable  as  possible." 

"  If  I  must  say  that  a  black  lie  is  the  white 
truth  in  order  to  be  thought  charitable,"  said 
Ethel,  vehemently,  "  I  would  rather  be  thought 
otherwise.  God  gave  me  clear,  perceptive 
faculties,  good  eyesight,  and  acute  hearing. 
Does  He  wish  me,  think  you,  to  go  through 
the  world  with  my  eyes  half  closed,  with 
cotton  in  my  ears,  and  my  mind  clouded  with 
fancies  ?  It  is  quite  true,  as  you  say,  that 
Mrs.  Wyse  is  a  woman  of  the  world,  and  that 
the  world  admires  her  and  thinks  her  clever. 
Heaven  preserve  me  from  ever  becoming  a 
woman  of  the  world  ! " 

"My     dear     child,"     said     Mrs.     Brewster, 


212  THE    WIDOW  WTSE. 

laughing,  "you  should  go  into  the  lecture 
field.  You  would  be  invaluable  to  the  cause 
of  universal  suffrage,  should  you  undertake  to 
advocate  it." 

"That  is  just  what  I  was  going  to  speak 
about,"  said  Ethel,  eagerly:  "why  do  not  these 
earnest  women,  with  clear  heads  and  strong 
minds,  take  up  this  matter,  and  try  to  raise 
their  frail  sisters  to  the  dignity  of  true  woman- 
hood ?  They  labor  and  strive  and  agonize  in 
their  endeavor  to  gain  the  right  to  vote. 
What  would  the  ballot  be  in  the  hands  of 
such  a  woman  as  the  Widow  Wyse  ?  " 

"What  you  say  is  quite  reasonable,"  said 
Mrs.  Brewster,  "but  are  you  ready  to  begin 
to  revolutionize  the  world  of  women  ? " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Ethel,  laughing.  "  I  have 
already  begun,  and  I  believe  I  have  made  one 
convert." 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  Mrs.  Brewster,  "  you 
must  allow  me  to  say  that  I  fear  that  you  are 
a  little  too  sweeping  in  your  denunciations. 
To  borrow  your  own  words,  'A  lie  is  an 
intention  to  deceive.'  We  cannot  always 
understand  motives." 


PLANS  A ND  PR OJE CTS.  213 

"  It  would  be  impossible  to  put  one's  self 
quite  in  another's  place,"  said  Ethel,  thought- 
fully. "  Do  you  mean  that  I  should  say, 
always,  '  That  would  be  a  lie  if  I  said  it,  but 
from  her  standpoint  it  may  be  the  truth '  ?  Is 
that  what  you  call  being  charitable  ?  " 

"  You  are  incorrigible,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs. 
Brewster,  laughing. 

"  At  least  I  am  in  earnest,"  said  Ethel. 
"  But,  dear  Mrs.  Brewster,  I  cannot  see  the 
justice  of  exaggerating  the  good  I  see,  and  of 
covering  with  the  mantle  of  charity  the  evil. 
If  I  am  impartial  on  the  one  hand,  why  should 
I  not  be  on  the  other  ?  I  don't  mean  that  evil 
should  be  sought  for,  by  any  means,  but  how 
can  I  help  seeing  what  is  so  plainly  on  the 
surface  ?  It  is  not  jealousy,  I  am  sure,  which 
prompts  me  to  speak  so.  I  seem  to  feel  differ- 
ently from  most  girls  I  meet.  I  have  always 
associated  with  older  people  than  myself,  and  I 
am  not  used  to  petty  dealings.  Possibly  they 
seem  worse  to  me  on  that  account.  .Mrs.  Wyse 
said  to  me  last  June :  '  What  a  popular  girl 
you  might  be  if  you  chose,'  and  I-  answered : 
'  Possibly,  if  I  would  allow,  myself  to  be  all 
things  to  all  people.'  " 


X 


214  THE  wi&ow  WTSE. 

"  '  Oh,  no ! '  "  she  said.  "  '  If  you  would  only 
allow  people  to  love  you.'  Now,  I  am  perfectly 
willing  to  be  loved,"  she  went  on,  laughing, 
"but  I  must  be  loved  for  what  I  am.  I  will 
not  seem  to  be  what  I  am  not.  To  quote  the 
Widow  Wyse  again  in  this  connection.  She 
says  that  she  '  would  rather  have  the  goodwill 
of  a  dog  than  the  illwill  of  one,'  while  I  feel 
prompted  to  say,  '  I  would  rather  that  a  dog, 
even,  should  feel  that  he  must  offer  me  clean 
paws  to  shake.'  I  have  been  trying  to  reason 
this  out  lately,  but  I  have  hardly  come  to  a 
satisfactory  conclusion  concerning  it." 

"  Don't  try  any  more  now,  dear,"  said  Mrs. 
Brewster,  seeing  that  she  looked  pale  and  tired, 
"  but  go  out  for  a  drive.  It  will  do  you  good. 
The  carriage  is  at  the  door  and  Kitty  is  just 
coming  down." 


CHAPTER   XV. 

AT    NEWPORT. 

IN  September  Ethel  went  to  Newport  to 
visit  the  Apthorpes.  What  a  change  from  the 
quiet  of  the  country.  In  the  picturesqueness 
of  its  scenery,  its  attractive  exclusiveness,  its 
deliciously  green  lawns,  its  wealth  of  flowers 
and  vines,  the  bewildering  brilliancy  of  the 
scenes  along  the  fashionable  drive,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  architectural  beauty  of  its 
buildings,  this  charming  "  city  by  the  sea '' 
stands  unrivaled.  How  many  times  Ethel 
exclaimed  during  her  too  brief  stay,  "  It  is 
the  loveliest  place  in  the  world  ! " 

She  was  necessarily  quiet,  for  she  had  not 
fully  recovered  her  strength.  Her  friends  were 
very  careful  of  her,  but  she  took  long,  delight- 
ful drives,  and  it  was  like  a  glimpse  of  paradise 
to  sit  on  the  broad  piazza  and  listen  with  a 
strange,  intense  delight  to  the  music  of  the 
voice  which  sang  in  her  heart  and  brain  long 
after  its  owner  had  left  her  alone. 


2l6  THE    WIDOW    WTSE. 

"You  have  been  ill,"  he  would  say,  "and  you 
must  let  me  amuse  you.  I  have  nothing  else 
to  do."  His  voice  took  a  tenderer  tone  when 
addressing  her.  Was  it  only  because  she  had 
been  ill,  or  did  he  really  care  ? 

Ah,  Gerald  Apthorpe,  take  care !  Do  you 
know  that  you  are  playing  upon  heartstrings? 
Touch  that  sweetly-tuned  instrument  softly. 
Those  are  not  cold  wires  you  are  sweeping  your 
hand  across,  but  quivering  nerves  that  are 
sensitive  only  to  your  touch.  Lightly,  my  dear 
fellow,  lest  you  shatter  that  delicate  organ,  and 
stain  your  white  hand  with  the  life-blood  that 
runs  only  for  you  ! 

This  every-day  association  was  very  danger- 
ous to  Ethel's  peace  of  mind.  The  time  flew 
by  on  swift  wings.  She  had  been  too  happy. 
The  last  day  had  come. 

"Well,"  said  Gerald,  cheerfully,  "this  is  your 
last  day.  I  hope  you  are  feeling  quite  strong 
and  well  again."  How  her  heart  sank.  What 
a  delusive  dream  it  had  all  been. 

The  Widow  Wyse  made  a  hasty  trip  to 
Newport.  She  said  to  her  mother  before 
she  set  out: — 


AT  NEWPORT.  21? 

"  Ethel  Townsend  dislikes  me,  and  I  am 
afraid  of  her.  She  is  too  good  for  this  wicked 
world.  It  is  a  pity  that  her  wings  should  not 
grow  a  little  faster.  I  am  sure  that  I,  for  one, 
could  spare  her  without  a  sigh.  She  has  too 
much  influence  altogether  with  the  Apthorpes 
to  suit  my  purposes.  I  must  try  to  weaken  it." 

"  But  how  can  you  do  that  ? "  asked  Mrs. 
Houlton.  "  Do  be  careful,  Julia  ;  remember"  — 

"  Let  b)^ones  be  bygones,  if  you  please, 
mamma,"  said  her  daughter.  "  I  acknowledge 
myself  human.  I  sometimes  make  mistakes, 
but  I  know  what  I  am  doing  now." 

She  arrived  at  the  Ocean  House  at  night, 
and  the  next  day  she  took  a  carriage  at  the 
fashionable  hour  for  driving  in  order  to  recon- 
noitre, taking  care  to  be  veiled  so  as  not  to  be 
recognized.  She  peered  eagerly  into  every 
carriage  she  passed,  and  soon  sank  back  as  if 
wishing  to  be  unnoticed  as  Mr.  Apthorpe's 
black  horses  dashed  by.  The  carriage  con- 
tained Major  Apthorpe,  his  sister,  and  Ethel. 
Mrs.  Wyse  gave  an  order  to  her  coachman, 
who  drove  rapidly  to  Mr.  Apthorpe's  house. 
Fortune  favored  her.  He  was  at  home. 


2l8  THE   WIDOW    WYSE. 

"  I  came,  Mr.  Apthorpe,"  she  said,  in  a  low, 

sympathetic  voice,  "  to  see  poor,  little   Ethel, 

or,  at  least,  to  hear  from  her.     How  is  she  ? " 

"Much   better,"    he   answered.       "She   has 

nearly  recovered.     She  has  been  quite  ill." 

"Oh,  yes!"  she  said.  "I  know  all  about 
that  unfortunate  affair.  It  was  a  dreadful 
shock  to  her.  It  was  hard  for  all  of  us,  but 
particularly  so  for  her.  I  don't  think  she 
cared  for  him,  but  he  was  terribly  in  earnest, 
and  she  liked  him  so  much  that  he  was 
deceived,  and  when  he  found  "  — 

"  What  on  earth  are  you  talking  about,  Mrs. 
Wyse  ?  "  interrupted  Mr.  Apthorpe.  "  I  don't 
understand,  in  the  least,  what  you  mean. 
Who  was  this  young  man,  and  what  had  he 
to  do  with  Ethel  ?  " 

"Oh,  don't  you  know?"  said  Mrs.  Wyse 
with  well-assumed  surprise.  "  I  thought  you 
knew.  Of  course  I  ought  not  to  speak  if  she 
has  kept  it  from  you.  She  would  not  like  it. 
She  used  to  be  very  fond  of  me,  but  since  this 
dreadful  event  "  — 

"  I  must  insist  upon  your  explaining,  Mrs. 
Wyse,"  said  Mr.  Apthorpe,  losing  patience. 


A T  NE  WPORT.  2  1 9 

"  It  was  poor  August  Brenner,  who  was 
drowned.  Oh,  I  don't  know  how  to  tell  you  !  " 
and  Mrs.  Wyse  put  her  handkerchief  to  her 
eyes. 

"  Do  you  mean  young  Cleveland's  German 
friend  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Apthorpe.  "  I  read  about 
it  at  the  time.  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that 
the  young  man  drowned  himself  —  committed 
suicide,  on  Ethel's  account  ? "  he  asked,  with 
cruel  distinctness. 

"  Oh,  don't  put  it  in  that  way !  "  she  pro- 
tested. "It  is  too  dreadful.  He  slipped  in 
perhaps  —  but  Ethel  is  so  tender-hearted.  I 
am  sure  she  did  not  intend  any  harm,  but  I 
suppose  she  thought  that  she  might  have 
unconsciously  encouraged  him." 

"  If  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  Ethel  Town- 
send  encouraged,  and  then  deliberately  jilted, 
any  young  man,  all  I  can  say  is  I  don't  believe 
it  !  "  he  answered,  with  warmth. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Apthorpe!"  she  said,  appealingly, 
"  I  am  sure  I  did  not  say  that.  I  did  not  mean 
it ;  I  love  Ethel,  and  would  do  anything  in  my 
power  to  make  her  happy,"  and  her  blue  eyes 
filled  with  tears. 


22O  THE   WIDOW  WTSE. 

"Well,  well !  "  said  Mr.  Apthorpe,  softening, 
"  perhaps  you  did  not.  I  love  Ethel,  too,  and 
what  you  said  excited  me.  I  beg  your  pardon." 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Apthorpe,"  said  the  fair 
widow,  "  I  am  so  sorry  for  this.  I  feel  very 
much  to  blame,  but  how  could  I  know  ?  Pray, 
do  not  tell  Ethel  that  I  have  spoken  about  the 
matter.  I  naturally  thought  you  would  know 
about  the  cause  of  her  illness,  and  with  the 
best  of  motives  came  to  inquire  about  her. 
Do  not  tell  her  that  I  have  been  here,  even. 
It  might  do  harm.  Promise  me  that  you 
will  not,  Mr.  Apthorpe,  or  I  shall  be  very 
unhappy." 

"  No,  I  will  not,"  he  answered,  and  she  left 
him  a  little  in  doubt  as  to  whether  she  had 
done  her  cause  any  good.  She  had  to  leave  it, 
she  profanely  said,  "  In  the  hands  of  Provi- 
dence." 

Mr.  Apthorpe  said  nothing  to  Ethel,  but  he 
told  his  sister  what  Mrs.  Wyse  had  told  him, 
but  he  expressed  doubts  as  to  its  truthfulness, 
although  it  was  very  evident  that  his  informant 
believed  it  he  said,  and  he  ended  by  saying, 
decidedly  :  — 


AT  NE  WPORT.  221 

"  Of  course  you  will  say  nothing  to  Ethel 
about  it,  and,  above  all  things,  say  nothing  to 
Jed.  It  might  influence  him." 

And  Gerald  Apthorpe  moved  gently  away 
from  the  door  he  was  about  to  enter,  saying  to 
himself,  — 

"So  that  is  their  pet  plan.  That  Dick,  of 
all  men,  should  turn  matchmaker.  How  I 
should  like  to  laugh  at  him.  Poor  little 
Ethel !  I  wonder  if  it  is  true." 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

BACK   TO    MADAM    LEONARD'S. 

THERE  was  a  dull,  heavy  pain  in  Ethel's  heart 
as  she  left  her  kind  friends  for  Madam  Leonard's. 
She  had  now  no  doubt  as  to  the  extent  of  her 
folly,  for  every  heartbeat  said  "  Gerald,  Gerald, 
Gerald."  She  had  been  cast  out  of  paradise. 
Everything  seemed  wanting. 

"  Why  could  I  not  have  heeded  the  warning 
that  was  given  me  ?  "  she  said.  Yet  she  did 
not  blame  him.  She  did  not  believe  that  he 
was  the  coldly  selfish  being  that  he  had  been 
represented.  She  simply  felt  that  he  could  not 
care  for  her.  She  cared  for  nothing,  not  even 
her  father.  She  might  have  been  cast  upon 
a  desert  island  for  all  the  sympathy  she  had 
for  those  around  her.  She  longed  to  hide 
herself  from  everybody,  and  she  had  almost 
resolved  to  write  and  beg  her  father  to  come, 
and  take  her  away,  when  something  occurred  to 
make  her  forget  herself  and  her  troubles  for 
the  time  being.  What  it  was  the  reader  will 


BACK  TO  MADAM  LEONARD'S.         22$ 

learn  in  the  following  letter,  addressed  to  her 
father  :  — 

"  MY  DEAR  PAPA,  —  Something  dreadful  has 
happened.  The  house  is  shaken  to  its  very 
centre.  Madam  Leonard  is  ill,  and  has  taken 
her  bed.  Miss  Carpenter  goes  about  the  house 
like  a  madwoman,  and  Miss  Eliza  looks  white 
and  horror-stricken.  Everybody  seems  to 
have  lost  her  wits,  and  my  own  hand  trembles, 
as  you  can  see.  I  hear  you  ask,  '  What  is  it 
all  about  ? '  You  would  never  guess,  so  I  must 
tell  you,  but  prepare  to  be  shocked.  Lizzie 
Highgate  eloped  from  the  house  last  night  with 
Jack  Fenton.  Our  Jack !  Only  think  of  it ! 
And  the  sly  girl  pretended  that  she  did  not 
know  him.  Her  roommate  found  a  note  in 
one  of  her  books,  addressed  to  Madam  Leon- 
ard this  morning,  which  said  that  before  she 
should  receive  it  they  would  be  married  and  far 
away.  Everything  had  been  planned  with  the 
greatest  care.  Her  trunks  had  been  packed  and 
left  so  that  they  might  be  sent,  without  trouble, 
to  her  home.  She  deceived  her  roommate  by 
saying  that  her  mamma  was  ill,  and  that  she 


224  THE  WIDOW  WTSE. 

was  going  to  put  a  few  things  into  her  trunk 
fearing  that  she  might  be  sent  for  in  haste. 
She  had  put  in  everything  she  had,  excepting 
the  few  things  she  took  with  her.  She  must 
have  thrown  her  hat,  wrap,  and  satchel  out  of 
the  window,  for  the  servants  say  that  she  did 
not  have  them  with  her  when  she  passed 
through  the  kitchen  and  out  of  the  back  door. 
They  supposed  that  she  returned  to  the  house 
by  another  way.  Poor  Jack  !  How  could  he 
be  so  foolish  ?  He  will  never  be  able  to  respect 
himself,  or  her.  It  was  his  third  year  in  col- 
lege, and  he  might  have  graduated  with  honor. 
Why  could  he  not  have  waited  and  married  in 
a  respectable  kind  of  way.  I  do  not  believe 
that  her  family  would  have  tried  to  prevent  it, 
for  Jack  is  not  a  young  man  to  be  easily 
refused.  But  I  understand^the  matter  perfectly. 
It  was  wholly  Lizzie's  affair.  She  could  not 
afford  to  wait.  She  was  too  much  afraid  of 
being  found  out.  She  cannot  control  her 
temper,  and  she  is  very  well  aware  of  it.  I  am 
too  much  disgusted  just  now  to  pity  Jack  as 
much  as  he  deserves,  but  poor,  dear,  refined  Mrs. 
Fenton.  It  will  be  a  terrible  blow  to  her,  for 


BA CK  TO  MADAM  LEONARD'S.        22$ 

she  idolizes  Jack.  I  know  she  will  try  to  love 
his  wife,  but  how  can  she  ?  If  she  were  more 
teachable  I  am  sure  so  much  gentleness  and 
refinement  would  have  a  softening  effect  upon 
her,  but  I  am  very  much  afraid  that  Lizzie's 
vulgar  ideas  of  money,  her  tawdriness  and 
slatternly  ways,  will  he  a  sore  trial  to  her  mother- 
in-law.  I  understand  now  those  mysterious 
visits  to  the  country  during  vacations.  I  shall 
write  again  soon.  Dear  papa,  how  I  wish  I 
were  with  you. 

"Your  loving 

"  TEDDY." 

Ethel,  as  I  have  said,  forgot  herself  in  the 
general  excitement.  And  it  really  was  a 
benefit  to  her.  After  a  few  days  the  girls 
settled  down  to  their  books.  Madam  Leonard 
appeared  once  more  among  them,  and  feeling 
that  some  reference  must  be  made  to  Lizzie's 
flight,  said :  — 

"  Young  ladies,  you  all  know  of  the  disgrace 
that  Miss  Highgate  has  brought  upon  herself 
and  upon  this  house,  and  I  only  speak  of  it  to 
ask  you  not  to  discuss  it  among  yourselves,  but 


226  THE   WIDOW  WTSE. 

to  forget  it  as  soon  as  possible.  She  is  not 
worthy  of  your  thoughts." 

Ethel  applied  herself  more  closely  to  her 
studies  than  ever,  and  the  time  went  slowly 
by  until  another  Thanksgiving  day  arrived. 
It  was  just  a  year  since  her  first  visit  to 
Boston.  How  much  had  happened  since  then  ! 
How  old  she  felt.  She  went  home  with  Kitty, 
and  divided  the  time  between  the  Brewsters 
and  the  Apthorpes.  She  soon  learned  that 
the  Widow  Wyse  was  in  Boston. 

Her  mother  had  said  before  she  left  her  : 
"  I  am  afraid  you  are  going  to  be  disappointed, 
Julia.  You  know  that  Boston  does  not  open 
its  arms  to  strangers  readily,  and  you  have  few 
acquaintances  there." 

"  You  forget,  my  dear  mamma,  that  instead 
of  stopping  at  a  hotel,  as  I  have  generally 
done,  I  am  to  visit  Nana  Cleveland.  You 
don't  half  know  your  daughter.  Sometimes  she 
sees  years  ahead.  Do  you  remember  calling 
me  foolishly  impulsive  because  I  interested 
myself  in  a  poor  lecturer  a  few  years  ago  ?  Do 
you  know  why  I  did  it  ?  No  ?  Well,  I  will 
tell  you.  As  I  was  coming  home  from  Madam 


BACK  TO  MADAM  LEONARD'S.        227 

Leonard's,  one  vacation,  I  overheard  Professor 
Seamore,  a  man  of  letters,  and  a  severe  critic, 
say  (he  was  sitting  in  front  of  me  with  another 
gentleman)  that  Mr.  Follansbee  was  sure  to 
make  his  mark,  and  that,  within  a  short 
time,  men  of  culture  would  be  proud  to 
acknowledge  him  as  a  friend.  Chance  threw 
him  in  my  way.  You  know  what  I  did.  It 
was  very  little.  I  simply  talked  him  up. 
Wrote,  asking  him  to  give  a  course  of  lectures. 
The  girls  sold  the  tickets  and  he  had  a  fine 
audience.  I  bought  a  ticket  and  went  to  one 
of  the  lectures,  during  which  you  had  to 
pinch  me  to  keep  me  awake,  if  you  remember, 
and  I  was  ill  or  out  of  town  during  the  others  ; 
but  he  was  very  grateful  to  me,  all  the  same. 
I  have  a  letter  upstairs,  in  which  he  pours 
forth  volumes  of  gratitude,  and  says  that,  if  he 
can  ever  serve  me  in  any  way,  he  shall  be 
glad  and  proud  to  do  it.  He  was  poor  and 
dependent  then  :  now  he  has  influence  among 
people  whom  I  wish  to  know,  and  I  purpose  to 
let  him  serve  me." 

"Julia,"  said  Mrs.    Houlton,  admiringly,  "I 
will  never  attempt  to  give  you  advice  again. 


228  THE   WIDOW    WTSE. 

You  are  thoroughly  capable  of  taking  care  of 
yourself." 

Attentions  were  showered  upon  her  through 
the  influence  of  Nana  Cleveland  and  Mr  Fol- 
lansbee,  and  Mrs.  Houlton  took  infinite  pains 
to  inform  the  social  world  of  Alliance  that  dear 
Julia  was  "quite  the  rage  in  Boston." 

"You  as  are  changeable  as  a  chameleon,  Mrs 
Wyse,"  said  Mr.  Apthorpe,  one  evening,  as 
they  met  at  an  art  reception,  and  the  fair 
widow  was  fluttering  from  one  to  another. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Apthorpe,  don't  say  that,"  she 
answered.  "  I  am  as  steadfast  as  the  sun. 
The  fact  is,"  she  went  on,  with  pretty  hes- 
itancy, and  a  flash  of  her  white  teeth,  "  I  am 
dreadfully  afraid  of  you,  and  don't  do  myself 
justice.  I  have  been  intensely  interested  in 
your  writings,  but  I  find  such  soarings  into 
the  clouds,  such  divings  into  the  very  depths, 
that  I  get  lost  in  trying  to  follow  you.  Still, 
knowing  a  little,  I  find  myself  desiring  to  know 
more,  and  to  understand  better,  and  I  come  to 
you  with  '  Explain,  explain  !  '  upon  my  lips. 
'Come  down  to  my  poor  comprehension,'  but, 
before  I  can  gain  courage  to  speak,  you  — 
you  "  — 


BA  CK  TO  MADAM  LE ONAR& S.         229 

"  Oh,  I  growl,  I  suppose,"  he  said,  laughing. 

"  Yes,  yes  !  "  she  answered,  eagerly.  "  You 
do  growl  at  me,  only  I  never  should  have  dared 
to  say  so." 

And  Ethel,  looking  on  from  a  distance,  said 
bitterly  to  herself  :  — 

"  Is  it  possible  that  this  man  of  learning, 
wit,  talents,  everything  that  goes  to  make  up 
what  the  world  acknowledges  a  superior  in  all 
respects,  should  take  pleasure  in  listening  to 
that  shallow  woman's  flattery.  It  cannot 
be!" 

Kitty  was  intensely  amused. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  approaching 
Ethel,  "that  the  Widow  Wyse  is  making  eyes 
at  your  Mr.  Apthorpe  ?  " 

"  I  know  that  she  is  trying  to  make  a  good 
impression  upon  him,  and  I  am  afraid  she  has 
succeeded,"  said  Ethel. 

"  If  she  should  succeed  in  capturing  him,  a 
pretty  life  he  would  lead  her  after  he  found 
her  out,"  said  Kitty,  laughing. 

"  You  don't  say  that  you  think  she  wants 
to  marry  him,"  said  Ethel,  aghast.  "How 
perfectly  absurd." 


230  THE   WIDOW  WTSE. 

"Absurd  or  not,"  answered  Kitty,  "it  is 
precisely  what  she  is  aiming  at.  I  don't  know 
where  your  eyes  have  been  that  you  have  not 
seen  what  is  plain  to  everybody." 

Ethel's  face  was  a  study.  This  was  what 
she  had  never  dreamed  of. 

"She  shall  not  deceive  him!"  she  said 
fiercely  to  herself.  "  I  will  speak  first.  It 
will  be  my  duty  to  expose  her." 

Then  a  flush  of  shame  swept  over  her,  at  the 
thought  of  speaking  against  anybody,  even  the 
Widow  Wyse.  What  right  had  she  to  preju- 
dice anybody  against  her  ?  Mr.  Apthorpe  could 
surely  look  out  for  himself.  She  made  up  her 
mind  to  wait,  and  if  she  found  that  what  Kitty 
had  said  was  really  true,  and  that  he  was  blind 
to  her  defects  —  why,  then !  he  should  have 
a  hint,  if  no  more. 

"  Her  soul  is  not  large  enough  to  appreciate 
him,"  she  thought,  indignantly.  "  An  eminent 
writer  says :  '  The  meanest  nature  can  com- 
prehend the  evil  in  which  it  shares,  but  it 
requires,  to  judge  a  lofty  one,  to  be  on  a  level 
with  it.  Only  Alp  can  talk  to  Alp.'  How  can 
that  poor  little  molehill  talk  to  this  grand, 
mighty  Alp  ? " 


BACK  TO  MADAM  LEONARD'S.         23  I 

She  was  lost  in  thought  when  Mr.  Apthorpe, 
making  his  way  to  where  she  stood,  silent  and 
alone,  said  to  her,  in  a  low  tone :  — 

"That's  right,  dear.  When  you  have  that 
look,  I  know  just  what  you  are  doing.  I  am 
sure  that  that  is  not  a  look  of  admiration  you 
are  casting  upon  the  Widow  Wyse.  You  are 
dissecting  her  at  this  moment,  taking  her  to 
pieces,  unjointing  her  members,  taking  out  her 
heart  "  — 

"  Oh,  no !  "  interrupted  Ethel  at  this  point, 
"  I  was  only  trying  to  find  if  she  has  one.  I 
am  inclined  to  think  that  she  has,  and  that  it 
is  in  a  petrified  condition,  so  I  have  to  work 
carefully,  so  as  not  to  spoil  my  fine  instru- 
ments." 

Mr.  Apthorpe  laughed  ;  then  he  said,  more 
seriously:  — 

"  Beware  of  her,  my  dear ;  she  seems 
amiable,  but  she  has  a  well-filled  quiver  at  her 
back.  Her  arrows  are  pretty  things  to  look  at, 
daintily  covered  and  ornamented,  but  they  are 
pointed  with  steel  and  dipped  in  the  poisonous 
saliva  which  moistens  her  tongue." 

"  Oh  !  I  am  so  glad  you  can  read  her,"  said 


232  THE    WIDOW    WTSE. 

Ethel.  "  I  did  n't  want  to  speak,  but  I  felt 
that  I  must." 

•"  I  am  very  sorry  you  should  think  me  dull," 
he  answered,  dryly.  The  absurdity  of  which 
remark  made  Ethel  laugh  again. 

"  Ethel,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Wyse,  fluttering  up 
to  her  at  this  moment,  "  I  have  been  looking 
for  you  everywhere,  to  tell  you  that  Nana  is  to 
have  a  reading  at  her  house  to-morrow  after- 
noon at  four.  There  are  to  be  only  a  few 
people,  and  each  one  is  to  recite  something 
from  his  or  her  favorite  poet." 

She  saw  refusal  in  Ethel's  face,  and  she  went 
on,  persuasively  :  — 

"  You  must  come,  dear,  for  we  cannot  get 
along  without  you.  I  am  sure  it  will  be 
pleasant,  as  it  is  to  be  like  those  we  had  last 
summer  in  Alliance,  which  we  enjoyed  so 
much." 

"  How  can  she  refer,  in  the  remotest  degree, 
to  the  events  of  the  summer  ? "  thought 
Ethel,  who  changed  her  mind  suddenly,  and 
answered  :  — 

"  Thank  you,  I  shall  be  very  happy." 

"You  dear  girl,"  said  Mrs.  Wyse,  effusively, 


BACK  TO  MADAM  LEONARD'S. 


233 


"  and  you  will  be  prepared  to  recite  something, 
I  am  sure  ;  and  Mr.  Apthorpe,  too,  if  he  will 
honor  us  so  much,"  she  said,  beaming  upon 
him.  "  I  am  sure  you  will  be  amply  repaid  by 
listening  to  Ethel's  exquisite  voice." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Ethel,  quickly,  giving  him 
a  meaning  look.  "  I  should  like  to  have  Mr. 
Apthorpe  there-  He  has  never  heard  me 
read,  even." 

"What  assurance,"  thought  Mrs.  Wyse. 
However,  she  was  thankful  for  his  ready 
acceptance,  and  said  :  — 

"  How  perfectly  charming  to  have  you  both. 
I  am  sure  that  Nana  will  be  as  much  delighted 
as  I  am." 

A  celebrated  elocutionist  first  recited  a  gem 
from  Longfellow,  and  sat  down  amid  great 
applause.  Then,  as  if  for  contrast,  Ethel 
thought,  the  Widow  Wyse,  who  was  the 
moving  spirit  of  the  affair,  called  upon  Miss 
Townsend.  She  looked  unusually  pale,  and 
the  widow  said  to  herself  :  — 

"  She  is  nervous ;  she  will  break  down,  and 
serve  her  right,  too.  It  will  teach  her  to  be 
less  confident." 


234  THE    WIDOW  WTSE. 

But  there  was  no  sign  of  tremor  in  Ethel's 
voice  as  she  rose  and  said  :  — 

"  I  will  recite  '  The  Well's  Secret,'  by  John 
Boyle  O'Reilly." 

She  began,  and  in  a  light,  joyous  manner 
recited  the  first  two  verses:  — 

'"I   knew   it    all   my   boyhood;     in   a  lonesome    valley 

meadow, 
Like  a  dryad's  mirror  hidden  by  the  wood's  dim  arches 

near: 
Its  eye   flashed  back   the   sunshine,  and  grew  dark  and 

sad  with  shadow, 

And  I  loved  its  truthful  depths,  where  every  pebble  lay 
so  clear. 

"  '  I   scooped  my  hand  and  drank  it,  and  watched   the 

sensate  quiver 
Of  the  rippling  rings  of  silver,  as  the  drops  of  crystal 

fell; 

I  pressed  the  richer  grasses  from  its  little  trickling  river, 
Till  at  last  I  knew,  as  friends  know,  every  secret  of  the 
well.'" 

Then  her  tone  and  look  changed  to  surprise, 
which  deepened,  and  finally  turned  to  horror, 
as  she  finished  the  next  two  verses,  with  her 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  Widow  Wyse :  — 


BA  CK  TO  MA  DA  M  LE  ONARD'S.         235 

"  '  But   one   day  I   stood  beside   it,  on  a  sudden,  unex- 
pected, 
When  the  sun  had  crossed  the  valley,  and  a  shadow  hid 

the  place : 
And  I  looked  in  the  dark  waters,  saw  my  pallid  cheek 

reflected, 

And  beside  it,   looking  upward,   met  an   evil,   reptile 
face: 

"'Looking  upward,  furtive,  startled  at   the  silent,  swift 

intrusion : 
Then  it  darted  toward  the  grasses,  and  I  saw  not  where 

it  fled ; 
But  I  knew  its  eyes  were  on  me,  and  the  oldtime  sweet 

illusion 

Of  the  pure  and  perfect  symbol  I  had  cherished  there 
was  dead.' " 

Mrs.  Wyse  shuddered,  and  seemed  to  shrink 
within  herself  as  Ethel  went  on,  with  clasped 
hands  and  a  tone  and  look  of  inexpressible 
sadness : — 

"  '  Oh !    the  pain  to  know  the  perjury  of  seeming  truth 

that  blesses! 
My  soul  was  seared  like  sin  to  see  the  falsehood  of  the 

place 
And  the  innocence  that  mocked  me ;  while  in  dim,  unseen 

recesses, 

There  were    lurking    fouler  secrets   than   the   furtive, 
reptile  face. 


236  THE    WIDOW    WTSE. 

"  *  And   since   then  —  ah!    why  the  burden?     When  the 

joyous  faces  greet  me. 
With  eyes  of  limpid  innocence,  and  words  devoid  of 

art, 
I  cannot  trust  their  seeming,  but    must    ask   what  eyes 

would  meet  me 

Could  I  look  in  sudden  silence  at  the  secrets  of  the 
heart?1" 

There  was  no  applause.  Everybody  was 
hushed  to  silence.  After  a  moment  Mrs. 
Wyse  said,  with  a  little,  uneasy  laugh  :  — 

"That  was  almost  too  realistic,  Miss  Town- 
send.  You  looked  as  though  you  saw  the 
serpent." 

"I  did,"  said  Ethel,  turning  her  dark  eyes 
once  more  upon  the  Widow  Wyse;  "and  I 
saw,  too,  the  soul  it  had  lured  to  destruction." 

There  was  a  painful  silence,  and  all  felt 
relieved  when  Nana  came  to  Mrs.  Wyse's 
rescue  with  a  lighter  selection.  But  the  fair 
widow  was  beginning  to  feel  that  she  was 
playing  a  losing  game.  She  knew  that  Ethel 
Townsend  thoroughly  understood  her ;  but  she 
had  hoped  for  silence  on  her  part.  Her  re- 
sources were  infinite.  She  was,  to  all  appear- 


BACK  TO  MADAM  LEONARDOS.         237 

ances,  an  enthusiastic,  impulsive  creature,  with 
the  kindest  possible  heart;  but  her  schemes 
were  deeply  laid,  and  often  successfully  carried 
out.  She  would  tell  a  deliberate  falsehood 
with  such  a  charmingly  innocent  air  that  no 
one  who  was  a  stranger  to  her  could  doubt  its 
complete  truthfulness. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

FAREWELL    TO    MADAM    LEONARD'S. 

AFTER  her  return  to  Madam  Leonard's, 
Ethel  dragged  on  a  few  weeks,  and  then,  in 
sheer  desperation,  wrote  to  her  father,  begging 
him  to  come  to  her. 

"  I  cannot  stay  here  any  longer,  dear  papa," 
she  said  ;  "  I  feel  so  miserably  ill  and  unhappy. 
You  must  come  and  take  me  away." 

"  Poor  little  Teddy  !  "  he  said,  compassion- 
ately ;  "  I  had  no  idea  that  she  was  especially 
fond  of  Jack.  Foolish  fellow !  he  deserves  his 
fate,  however  bad  it  may  be." 

He  telegraphed  for  a  passage  home,  and 
traveled  day  and  night  to  reach  the  port  in 
season  for  it ;  but  before  he  embarked  he 
cabled  a  dispatch  to  his  daughter,  that  she 
might  not  be  in  doubt  as  to  his  response  to  her 
appeal. 

He  had  a  quick  passage,  and  hurried  at 
once  to  Madam  Leonard's.  He  was  troubled 
to  find  Ethel  looking  so  pale  and  thin ;  and 


FAREWELL   TO  MADAM  LEONARDOS.  239 

after  making  his  arrangements  to  take  her 
away,  he  left  for  Mobile,  taking  Dido  and  the 
solemn  Dumps  back  to  their  Southern  home. 
His  business  there  was  hastily  dispatched,  and 
he  came  back  to  his  daughter,  who  would  have 
started  at  once  for  New  York  could  she  have 
had  her  own  way ;  but  she  did  not  propose  it, 
for  she  could  give  no  satisfactory  reason  for 
not  calling  upon  the  friends  who  had  been,  so 
kind  to  her. 

"  I  met  my  old  friend,  Dick  Apthorpe,  in 
Boston,  my  dear,"  said  her  father,  "  and  prom- 
ised to  spend  the  night  with  him.  We  will  go 
directly  there  ;  and  some  time  during  the  day 
we  will  pay  a  visit  to  your  kind  friends,  the 
Brewsters.  I  feel  very  grateful  to  them,  and 
hope  some  time  to  be  able  to  make  some 
return.  I  only  wish  that  your  friend  Kitty 
might  accompany  us  now." 

But  Ethel  did  not  echo  the  wish.  She  only 
wanted  to  be  alone  with  her  father,  and  away 
from  all  her  old  friends.  It  was  necessary  for 
her  to  forget.  She  did  not  dare  to  think  of 
her  visit  to  the  Apthorpes,  for  she  felt  that  it 
would  be  utterly  impossible  to  say  good-by  to 
Gerald  without  betraying  herself. 


240  THE   WIDOW  WTSB. 

It  was  hard  to  say  good-by  to  Kitty,  who 
was  almost  inconsolable. 

"  Why  did  you  come  if  you  must  go  away  so 
soon  ?  "  said  the  weeping  girl.  And  Ethel  said 
to  herself :  — 

"Alas!  why  did  I?" 

Happily  for  her,  Major  Apthorpe  was  away. 
On  learning  this,  Ethel  tried  to  throw  off  her 
depression,  and  she  succeeded  in  a  degree.  It 
was  hard  parting  from  Mr.  Apthorpe.  She  had 
wound  herself  so  completely  around  his  heart 
that  he  felt  that  she  belonged  to  him. 

"  Hang  it,  Ned,"  he  said,  dashing  the  tears 
from  his  eyes,  "  I  am  as  fond  of  Ethel  as  you 
are.  Why  must  you  take  her  away  ?  I  could 
almost  wish  I  had  never  seen  her." 

He  was  as  savage  as  a  bear  for  the  next  few 
days. 

When  Major  Apthorpe  returned  and  learned 
of  Ethel's  departure,  he  experienced  a  feeling 
of  disappointment,  an  odd  sense  of  loss  that  he 
could  hardly  understand. 

"  I  thought  she  was  to  stay  with  Madam 
Leonard  through  the  year.  What  is  the  cause 
of  her  sudden  departure  ? "  he  asked  his  sister. 
"I  am  sorry  to  have  missed  seeing  her." 


FAREWELL   TO  MADAM  LEONARD'S.  24! 

"It  was  a  great  surprise  to  us,"  answered 
Mrs.  Amesbury.  "Her  father  came  home 
unexpectedly,  and  finding  her  far  from  well, 
decided  to  take  her  abroad  at  once.  Dick  is 
greatly  disappointed.  His  rheumatism  is  worse 
than  ever." 

Gerald  smiled.  This  convenient  rheumatism 
often  occasioned  a  smile  between  the  sister  and 
younger  brother.  Gerald  found  his  brother 
in  one  of  his  "  moods,"  and  accosted  him  with  : 

"  Well,  old  fellow,  how  are  you  ?  Eleanor 
says  that  you  have  a  touch  of  rheumatism. 
Can  I  do  anything  for  you?" 

"  Thank  you,  for  nothing,"  growled  Mr. 
Apthorpe.  "  I  should  like  to  know  how  the 
devil  you  always  manage  to  be  away  when  I 
want  you  most  ?  I  particularly  wanted  you  to 
meet  Dr.  Townsend.  You  said  you  would  be 
home  last  week." 

"  Oh,  come,  now,"  answered  Gerald  good- 
naturedly,  "  don't  bite  my  head  off.  How  was 
I  to  know  that  you  wanted  me  ?  I  '11  go  and 
bring  them  back  by  force  if  you  say  so." 

Mr.  Apthorpe  smiled,  a  little  grimly,  it  is 
true,  but  he  could  not  long  withstand  his 


242 


THE   WIDOW  WYSE. 


favorite  brother's  sunny  nature  and  they  were 
soon  discussing  matters  of  interest  to  them 
both,  when  suddenly  Richard  Apthorpe  turned 
to  his  brother  and  said,  abruptly  :  — 

"  Well,  Jed,  what  do  you  think  of  Ethel 
Town  send  ?  " 

"  Everything  that  is  pleasant,"  he  answered. 
"  I  told  Eleanor  just  now  that  I  could  not 
remember  meeting  a  more  charming  young 
lady." 

"  I  don't  think  you  can,"  said  the  elder 
brother,  with  unnecessary  vehemence,  "  and 
what  is  more  I  don't  think  you  ever  will." 

"  Poor  girl,"  said  Gerald  softly.  "  I  hope  she 
may  be  able  to  forget,  in  time,  her  grief,  or 
remorse,  whichever  it  may  be." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  his  brother, 
sharply.  "What  absurd  story  have  you 
heard  ? " 

"  I  heard,"  said  Gerald,  smiling  a  little  sadly, 
"  what  you  said  to  Eleanor  on  the  subject,  at 
Newport." 

"  I  do  not  believe  the  story,"  said  Mr.  Ap- 
thorpe, earnestly,  "  and  you  should  not.  I 
believe  it  was  made  out  of  whole  cloth  by  that 
infernal  mischief-maker,  the  Widow  Wyse." 


FAREWELL  TO  MADAM  LEONARD'S.  243 

"  Do  you  know  the  cause  of  her  illness  ? " 
queried  Gerald,  pointedly. 

"How  should  I  know?"  burst  forth  his 
brother.  "  Good  heavens  !  You  seem  to  think 
- —  you  and  the  Widow  Wyse  —  that  a  young 
girl  can't  be  ill  without  being  able  to  trace 
back  the  cause  to  some  silly  love  affair." 

"  At  all  events,"  answered  Gerald,  "  she 
does  not  care  for  me,  so,  my  dear  brother,  put 
that  idea  out  of  your  mind,  and  we  will  say  no 
more  about  it." 

He  -had  a  little  time  at  his  disposal,  and, 
strange  to  say,  he  did  not  know  what  to  do 
with  it.  It  was  strange  how  he  missed  Ethel. 
She  fairly  haunted  him.  If  she  had  been  at 
Madam  Leonard's,  he  probably  would  not 
have  thought  of  her.  He  strayed  down  town 
and  into  a  picture-gallery.  There  was  a  fine 
portrait  of  a  young  girl,  by  a  celebrated  artist, 
before  him,  and  he  fell  to  criticizing  it  and  com- 
paring it  with  Ethel,  and  his  verdict  was  very 
much  in  the  latter's  favor.  He  remembered 
the  exact  curve  of  the  golden-brown  eyelash. 
The  exact  tint  of  the  soft  flush  of  the  fair, 
young  cheek.  The  exact  shape  of  the  graceful, 


244  THE  WIDOW  WTSE. 

willowy  form.  Yet  he  was  not  in  love  with 
her.  He  took  pains  to  assure  himself  of  this 
fact.  Oh,  no !  He  admired  her,  it  is  true, 
and  he  wished  there  were  more  like  her.  The 
world  would  be  better,  brighter,  fairer  —  that 
was  all. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

TRYING    TO    FORGET. 

DOCTOR  TOWNSEND  took  Ethel  directly  to 
Nice,  where  he  determined  to  stay  until  she 
was  stronger,  when  they  would  travel  about, 
in  the  hope  of  taking  up  her  mind  and  restor- 
ing her  spirits. 

"  Don't  ask  me  any  questions,  papa,"  she 
had  said  to  him.  "  I  shall  tell  you  all  about 
it  some  time,  but  not  now."  And  he  had 
respected  her  wish.  She  grew  happier  and 
more  like  herself  as  the  weeks  went  by.  Her 
father  was  so  tender  and  so  devoted  to  her 
that  she  felt  that,  since  other  love  was  denied 
her,  he  should  have  all  that  she  could  give  him. 
He  was  the  best  guide  that  she  could  have  had. 
In  the  first  place,  he  knew  perfectly  his  daugh- 
ter's tastes.  Then  he  was  thoroughly  familiar 
with  the  places  they  visited,  and  he  had  de- 
lightful and  influential  friends  everywhere. 
Ethel  knew  that  she  ought  to  be  happy,  but 
she  felt  that  fate  had  been  strangely  cruel  to 


246  THE   WIDOW  WTSE. 

her  in  throwing  her  into  the  society  of  the  only 
man  who  had  the  power  to  spoil  her  life. 
They  went  to  Paris,  intending  to  spend  some 
weeks,  but  on  the  second  day  her  father  came 
in  hurriedly,  and  told  her  that  she  must  pre- 
pare to  leave  for  Ecouen  that  afternoon. 

Ethel  demurred,  and  was  disposed  to  ask 
questions,  but  her  father  silenced  her  by  saying 
that  there  was  a  young  American  artist  with 
whom  he  had  business,  staying  there,  and  it 
was  absolutely  necessary  for  them  to  go.  He 
was  so  unlike  himself  that  her  curiosity  was 
greatly  excited.  He  did  not  want  her  to  leave 
the  house,  but  she  said  :  — 

"  I  must,  papa.  You  know  that  I  have 
made  an  engagement  with  some  of  your 
friends  to  drive  this  morning.  You  desired 
me  to  go,  and  I  cannot  well  excuse  myself 
now." 

He  let  her  go  reluctantly,  and  looked  at  her 
curiously  when  she  came  back.  She  saw  that 
he  did  not  wish  to  be  questioned,  so  she  was 
silent,  but  she  wondered  greatly  what  whim 
had  seized  him.  He  was  uneasy  until  they 
started,  when  he  seemed  like  himself  again, 


TRTING  TO  FORGET.  247 

but  Ethel  noticed  that  he  talked  rather  more 
rapidly  than  usual,  as  if  he  still  feared  ques- 
tions. He  entertained  her  with  anecdotes 
and  stories  all  the  way.  Her  mind  was  so 
taken  up  with  his  unusual  manner  that  she 
forgot  everything  else,  but  the  next  morning 
she  recalled  the  pleasant  drive  of  the  day 
before,  and  she  said,  suddenly  :  — 

"Papa,  whom  do  you  suppose  I  met  during 
my  drive,  yesterday  ?  You  would  never  be 
able  to  guess,  so -I  will  tell  you.  It  was  our 
runaways,  Jack  Fenton  and  his  wife.  I  was 
glad  to  notice  that  they  looked  a  little  shame- 
faced as  they  recognized  me.  How  queerly  you 
look  at  me,  papa.  Do  tell  me  what  it  is ;  I 
never  knew  you  to  act  so  strangely  before." 

"Oh,  it  is  nothing,"  he  answered,  with  an 
uneasy  laugh.  "  I  knew  they  were  in  Paris, 
but  I  thought  you  would  not  care  to  meet 
them,  so  I  "  — 

"So  you  did  not  say  anything  about  it," 
finished  Ethel.  "  Well,  I  think  you  might 
have  told  me.  I  don't  object  to  meeting  them 
at  all.  Why  should  I  ?  Of  course  I  dis- 
approved of  their  running  off  in  that  indecent 


248  THE   WIDOW    WYSE. 

manner,  and  I  did  n't  like  Lizzie,  but  I 
could  n't  cut  such  old  friends  as  the  Fentons. 
Why,  Jack  has  always  seemed  like  a  brother 
to  me.  You  would  not  want  me  to  refuse  to 
notice  them,  would  you  ?  " 

"No;  oh,  no!"  he  answered;  "but  I 
thought " — 

"  Thought  what,  papa  ?  Do  tell  me  what 
you  thought ! " 

"Why,"  said  poor  Dr.  Townsend,  "I 
thought  that  you  were  fond  of  Jack"- 

"  And  so  I  am,"  said  Ethel.  "  I  have  just 
told  you  so." 

"  But  I  thought  you  cared  so  much  that  this 
marriage  "  — 

"  You  thought  I  was  in  love  with  poor  old 
Jack ! "  said  Ethel,  understanding  for  the  first 
time  the  cause  of  her  father's  uneasiness. 
"  And  so  you  hurried  me  off  to  this  little 
place  for  fear  I  should  meet  him.  Oh,  you 
foolish  papa  !  that  is  really  too  good ! "  and 
she  went  off  into  peals  of  laughter  which 
did  his  heart  good  to  hear.  He  had  not  heard 
her  laugh  since  she  left  her  Southern  home  for 
Madam  Leonard's. 


TRYING   TO  FORGET.  249 

"  I  did  n't  think  you  could  tell  such  an  awful 
fib.  Where  is  your  artist  with  whom  you 
have  business?"  she  asked. 

"  It  was  no  fib  at  all,  my  dear.  I  saw  him 
this  morning,  but  the  business  was  more  im- 
portant to  him  than  to  me,  as  he  wanted  me 
to  let  him  have  some  money  ; "  and  they  were 
very  merry  the  rest  of  the  day. 

"To  tell  the  truth,  papa,  I  was  very  much 
disappointed  in  Jack.  I  wanted  him  for  Kitty  ; 
it  would  have  been  such  a  suitable  match  in 
every  way.  Ah!"  she  went  on,  with  a  sigh, 
"I  shall  never  try  my  hand  at  matchmaking 
again."  Then,  after  a  pause,  she  said,  mis- 
chievously :  "  So  you  are  called  '  the  handsome 
American,'  in  Dresden  ?" 

"  Who  has  been  talking  nonsense  to  you, 
my  dear?"  answered  Dr.  Townsend. 

"  The  Widow  Wyse,"  replied  Ethel.  "  Why 
have  you  not  spoken  of  her  ?  I  want  to  know 
how  she  struck  you." 

"  She  did  n't  strike  me,"  said  her  father, 
laughing. 

"  Oh  !  but  she  tried  to,  I  am  sure  of  it,"  said 
Ethel.  "  You  are  actually  blushing.  Come, 


250 


THE   WIDOW  WTSE. 


now,  confess  that  she  tried  to  fascinate  you, 
and  that  I  have  had  a  narrow  escape  from  a 
step-mother." 

"  How  absurd !  "  answered  her  father. 
"Why  should  a  pretty  young  woman  try  to 
fascinate  an  old  fellow  like  me  ? " 

"  I  shall  not  allow  you  to  call  my  papa 
names,"  said  Ethel,  with  mock  severity. 
"  What  will  you  say  when  I  tell  you  that  this 
'  pretty  young  woman '  tried  all  her  arts  upon 
your  dear  friend  in  Boston  last  winter  ?  " 

"  What !  not  Dick  Apthorpe  ?  You  can't 
mean  him,  surely!"  said  her  father,  laughing 
heartily  at  the  idea.  ''  A  pretty  life  he  would 
lead  her  after  he  found  her  out !  " 

Ethel  clapped  her  hands. 

"That  is  precisely  what  Kitty  said,"  she 
answered.  "  I  never  dreamed  of  such  a  thing 
until  she  suggested  it ;  then  it  was  plain 
enough  —  especially  after  Nana  Cleveland  told 
me  that  she  suspected  that  Julia  Wyse  was  not 
as  wealthy  as  she  was  reputed  to  be,  and  that 
she  was  obliged,  much  against  her  will,  to 
economize." 

"  So  your  friend  is  mercenary  ? "  said  Dr. 
Townsend. 


TRYING  TO  FORGET.  251 

"  Call  her  a  chance  acquaintance,  if  you 
please,"  answered  Ethel.  "  My  friends  are 
dear  to  me." 

Dr.  Townsend  was  puzzled.  He  had  been 
so  sure  that  it  was  Jack's  marriage  which  had 
troubled  Ethel  that  he  had  thought  of  nothing 
else.  What  could  it  be?  At  last  a  thought 
came  to  him  which,  he  believed,  explained  the 
whole  matter.  It  must  have  been  the  young 
German  who  was  drowned.  Ethel  had  written 
of  his  pleasing  qualities,  and  had  sent  papers 
giving  an  account  of  his  death ;  but  she  had 
not  spoken  of  the  tragic  event  in  her  letters, 
or  made  any  reference  to  him  since  they  had 
been  together.  That  was  unnatural  :  every- 
thing was  clear  to  him  now.  Poor  child ! 
Well,  he  must  try  and  make  her  forget.  After 
all,  a  dead  sorrow  was  better  than  a  living  one. 
He  was  glad  to  know  that  it  was  not  Jack. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

MAJOR  APTHORPE'S  QUEST. 

THE  winter  was  wearing  away.  Gerald 
Apthorpe  was  busier  than  ever.  He  was  up 
early  and  retired  late ;  and  this  sort  of  life 
began  to  tell  upon  him.  His  sister  remon- 
strated. 

"You  are  burning  your  candle  at  both 
ends,"  she  said.  "  It  is  not  like  you  to  .do 
that.  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  You  are 
growing  reckless.  I  think  a  change  would  do 
you  good." 

He  turned  her  off  with  a  laugh  ;  but  he  knew 
that  what  she  said  was  true.  He  grew  nervous 
and  irritable,  and  was  as  unlike  the  Gerald  of 
old  as  it  was  possible  to  conceive.  Finally  he 
resolved  to  go  abroad  again.  His  friends  did 
not  oppose  it :  in  fact,  they  urged  him  to  go. 
After  he  had  made  up  his  mind,  he  was  fever- 
ishly anxious  to  be  off. 

"  If  you  should  run  across  the  Townsends," 
said  his  brother,  "you  have  my  leave  to  bring 
them  back,  as  you  suggested." 


MAJOR  APTHORPE' S  QUEST.          253 

"It  is  not  likely  that  I  shall,"  answered 
Gerald.  "  I  have  no  idea  in  what  part  of  the 
world  they  may  be." 

"  I  had  a  letter  from  Ned  last  week  which 
told  me  that  they  would  be  in  Paris  next 
month,"  said  Mr.  Apthorpe,  eagerly. 

"Ah,"  said  his  brother,  carelessly,  as  he 
went  out ;  "  I  will  look  them  up,  perhaps." 

" '  Perhaps  ' !  you  insensible  piece  of  flesh 
and  blood,"  snarled  Mr.  Apthorpe,  as  the  door 
closed  upon  him.  "  '  Perhaps  '  /  " 

But  Major  Apthorpe  was  not  so  indifferent 
after  reaching  Paris.  He  hastened  to  their 
hotel,  only  to  find  that  they  had  just  left  for 
Ecouen.  He  lost  no  time  in  setting  out  for 
that  place,  and  found,  to  his  chagrin,  that  they 
had  returned  to  Paris.  He  said  to  himself : 
"  What  a  fool  I  am  !  I  am  even  worse  than 
Dick."  But  he  made  up  his  mind,  neverthe- 
less, that  he  would  find  them,  if  he  had  to 
follow  them  all  over  Europe.  He  went  back 
to  Paris,  and  on  reaching  the  hotel  again, 
learned  that  they  had  gone  out. 

"At  all  events,"  he  said  to  himself,  "they 
are  here;"  and  for  want  of  anything  else,  he 


254  THE   WIDOW  WTSE. 

went  to  the  Louvre,  and,  strolling  around,  he 
came  upon  a  familiar  figure  standing  before 
the  picture  of  "  Cupid  and  Psyche,"  by  Girard. 
It  was  Ethel,  and  she  was  lost  to  everything 
but  the  contemplation  of  that  first  kiss  of  love. 
He  came  softly  and  stood  beside  her  until  the 
consciousness  of  a  familiar  presence  aroused 
her,  and  she  turned  expecting  to  see  her  father. 
She  uttered  but  one  word,  "  Gerald,"  but  the 
tone  was  so  full  of  love,  the  face  was  so  full  of 
happiness,  that  he  could  not  mistake  it.  His 
heart  gave  a  joyful  bound. 

"  Ethel,  dear,"  he  said,  in  the  low,  caressing 
tones  she  knew  so  well,  "  bless  you  for  that 
name  and  that  tone.  Ah,  you  cannot  take  it 
back,"  as  she  drew  her  hands  away  blushing. 
"  Love  cannot  be  deceived.  I  shall  always  be 
'  Gerald '  to  you  now."  And  he  cabled  this 
message  to  his  brother  :  — 

"  I    shall   bring   them  back  as  I  promised." 


CHAPTER   XX. 

FOILED. 

IF  Gerald  Apthorpe  had  grown  nervous  and 
irritable,  Nana  Cleveland  had  grown  still  more 
so.  She  was  positively  snappish.  It  is  strange 
how  leng  a  woman  will  hope  against  hope,  in 
matters  of  the  heart,  grasping  at  the  least 
straw  floating  past  her.  She  knew  that  Major 
Apthorpe  was  utterly  indifferent  to  her,  and 
yet  she  could  not  banish  him  from  her  thoughts. 
She  was  impatient  for  the  departure  of  her 
visitor,  who  had  already  made  an  unconscionably 
long  visit,  but  she  could  hardly  tell  her  to  go, 
although  she  felt  that  her  indebtedness  had 
long  since  been  canceled.  The  Widow  Wyse 
seemed  in  no  hurry  to  go  home.  She  bore  the 
shafts  of  Nana's  ready  wit  with  smiling  com- 
posure, or  with  innocently  inquiring  eyes.  But 
she  could  not  deceive  that  young  lady.  Nana 
was  far  too  clear-sighted  for  that,  and  she  was 
annoyed  by  her  guest's  behavior.  She  had 
done  her  best  for  the  friend  who  had  so 


256  THE    WIDOW  WTSE. 

pleasantly  entertained  her  in  the  summer,  but 
she  felt  that  Mrs.  Wyse  was  not  the  success  in 
Boston  society  that  she  promised  to  be  on  her 
first  introduction  to  it.  Indeed,  it  seemed  to  be 
quite  the  fashion  to  smile  whenever  her  name 
was  mentioned.  The  widow  herself  was  con- 
scious that  she  was  not  getting  on,  and  that 
had  made  her  reckless.  Her  mysterious  visits 
to  nobody-seemed-to-know-where  were  exasper- 
ating to  Nana,  who  was  frankness  itself. 

Mrs.  Wyse  had  many  stormy  scenes  with  her- 
self in  the  privacy  of -her  own  chamber,  where 
she  laid  plans  only  to  reject  them.  She  had 
met  Mr.  Apthorpe  "  accidentally,"  she  had  told 
Nana,  several  times,  but  she  had  made  no 
advances  in  his  good  graces,  .^nd,  driven  des- 
perate by  her  non-success,  which  she  believed 
to  be  due  to  what  Ethel  Townsend  had  been 
pleased  to  say  against  her,  she  resolved  upon 
a  bold  stroke,  which  was  to  again  "beard  the 
lion  in  his  den."  In  other  words,  to  pay  him 
a  visit  and  try  and  explain  Ethel's  dislike  in 
a  way  which  would  be  creditable  to  herself. 
She  was  a  good  actress,  and  she  felt  that  she 
must  succeed.  She  would  succeed.  Accord- 


FOILED.  257 

ingly,  choosing  the  morning  on  which  she  knew 
Mrs.  Amesbury  would  be  engaged  in  mission- 
work,  she  dressed  herself  carefully,  and  came 
downstairs,  saying  sweetly  to  Nana  :  — 

"  I  should  ask  you  to  go  with  me,  dear,  but  I 
have  a  little  tiresome  business  to  do,  and  it 
would  bore  you."  Then,  with  moistened  eyes, 
she  impulsively  seized  Nana's  hand,  saying, 
"This  has  been  such  a  charming,  charming 
visit,  dear  Nana,  I  have  stayed  longer  than  I 
ought."  She  hurried  away,  while  Miss  Cleve- 
land said  to  herself:  — 

"Thank  goodness,  you  think  of  leaving  at 
last !  but,  my  lady,  I  propose  to  know  where 
you  are  going  this  morning.  It  is  nasty  busi- 
ness ;  but  I  feel  justified  in  doing  it."  And 
hastily  donning  hat  and  wrap,  she  followed 
her. 

The  widow's  heart  beat  fast  as  she  rang 
Mr.  Apthorpe's  doorbell.  It  was  an  audacious 
movement,  and  she  could  not  foresee  the 
result.  Mr.  Apthorpe  came  smilingly  toward 
her.  He  had  just  received  his  brother's  dis- 
patch, and  was  in  high  good-humor.  Mrs. 
Wyse  was  flattered.  She  was  herself  again. 


258  THE   WIDOW  WTSE. 

She  looked  up  timidly,  then  dropped  her  eyes 
quickly,  and  something  like  a  blush  overspread 
her  features  as  she  gently  pressed  the  hand  he 
offered  her. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Apthorpe  ! "  she  began,  in  a  hesi- 
tating way,  '  '  I  am  leaving  Boston" — here 
her  voice  faltered  perceptibly  —  "  and  —  and  — 
I  could  n't  go  without  seeing  you  again.  I 
hoped  you  would  call  —  but  "  — 

"  Well,  well !  sit  down,  madam,  sit  down. 
What  can  I  do  for  you?"  he  said,  in  a  bluff 
voice,  which  was  hardly  encouraging.  He  was 
saying  to  himself,  "  What  the  devil  brings 
Becky  Sharp  here  this  morning  ?  " 

"Are  you  angry  with  me,  dear  Mr.  Ap- 
thorpe ?  I  know  I  ought  not  to  have  come  ; 
but  I  have  enjoyed  your  society  so  much  — 
and  —  and  —  oh,  Mr.  Apthorpe!  I  could nt  go 
away  without  saying  good-by,"  and  here  she 
put  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes  ;  but,  feeling 
that  he  was  growing  impatient,  she  uncovered 
them  and  went  on.  "  I  want  to  explain  some- 
thing to  you  before  I  go.  I  feel  that  I  have 
been  misrepresented.  Ethel  Townsend  used  to 
be  very  fond  of  me ;  but  since  last  summer 


FOILED.  259 

—  I  was  not  to  blame,  indeed  I  was  not ; 
and  it  was  so  —  cruel  —  to  —  misrepresent  me 
to  you.  If  it  had  been  anybody  else  I  should 
not  care ;  but  I  do  want  you  to  understand 
me." 

"  Zounds,  madam !  do  you  take  me  for  a 
fool  ? "  he  burst  forth,  angry  that  she  should 
speak  thus  of  Ethel.  "  I  do  understand  you 
perfectly.  I  have  understood  you  for  a  long 
time,  and  —  hang  it !  I  shall  say  something  I 
ought  not  say  to  a  woman  if  this  goes  on." 
And  he  strode  out  of  the  room  with  something 
on  his  lips  that  sounded  very  much  like  a  d — n. 

The  Widow  Wyse  looked  ten  years  older 
when  she  returned  to  her  friend's  house  than 
she  did  when  she  set  out  from  it.  Nana  met 
her,  with  a  pale  face  and  set  lips. 

"  I  think,  Nana,"  she  said,  wearily,  "  that  I 
must  go  home  to-morrow." 

"You  have  come  to  a  wise  resolve,"  said 
Nana,  in  clear,  cutting  tones.  "When  my 
guest  so  far  forgets  herself  as  to  make  her 
efforts  to  capture  a  rich  husband  so  evident 
that  it  becomes  the  subject  for  club  gossip, 
it  is  time  for  her  visit  to  end.  You  have 
evidently  been  refused  this  morning." 


260  THE    WIDOW  WTSE. 

"  You  have  been  playing  the  spy  ! "  said  Mrs. 
Wyse,  roused  to  sudden  anger. 

"  I  saw  you  enter  Mr.  Apthorpe's  door,  if 
that  is  what  you  mean,"  answered  Nana,  coolly. 
"And  as  7  have  business,  also,  to-day,  it  is 
doubtful  if  I  am  able  to  see  you  again.  I  will 
send  Wilson  to  assist  you  in  your  preparations 
for  leaving.  Allow  me  to  wish  you  a  very 
good-day,  and  better  success  another  time." 
And  sweeping  her  a  mocking  courtesy,  Nana 
left  the  room. 

And  the  Widow  Wyse  went  back  to  her 
precious  mamma. 


The  Old  Corner  Bookstore, 

October,  1884. 
A 

LIST  OF  NEW  BOOKS 

PUBLISHED   BY 

CUPPLES,    UPHAM    &    COMPANY, 

283    WASHINGTON    STREET,   BOSTON. 


Sibylline  Leaves, 

Wherein  are  to  be  found  the  Omens  of  Fate.  By  Ursa 
Major.  Illustrated  with  twenty  magnificent  large 
quarto  steel  engravings,  done  in  heliotype  after  the 
most  famous  pictures  of  modern  times $5-oo 

This  is  a  rarely  beautiful  gift-book.  It  is  a  volume  of  Fate  in  which 
are  sealed  the  mysteries  of  individual  life.  The  omens  are  poems,  and 
each  is  accompanied  by  a  full  quarto-page  illustration  of  exquisite  exe- 
cution. The  volume  is  bound  in  limp  white  vellum,  having  the  front 
cover  illuminated  with  a  mystical  design.  This  curious  book  is  in- 
tended for  the  parlor-table ;  and,  no  doubt,  many  a  Halloween  and 
Christmas  company  will  find  novel  entertainment  in  its  pages. 

Walter  Besant  and  Henry  James. 

The  Art  of  Fiction :  A  Lecture  delivered  at  the  Royal  Insti- 
tution, April  25,  1884.  Cloth,  square  izmo 50 

Mr.  Besant's  lecture  has  made  no  small  sensation  amongst  the  fast- 
increasing  class  who  aspire  to  literature.  It  is  indeed  a  very  sugges- 
tive paper,  to  be  read  with  pleasure  and  profit  by  the/ew  who  possess 
the  creative  gift,  and  by  the  much  greater  class  who  appreciate  and 
enjoy  works  of  fiction. 


Frederick  A.  Tupper. 


Moonshine.     A  novel.     By  F.  A.  Tupper.     i  vol.,  i6mo, 
cloth i.oo 

A  new  novel  of  American  life,  replete  with  incident,  life,  and  char- 
acter. 


Hist  of  Ncfo  Books. 


Johanna  Spyri. 

Heidi :  Her  Years  of  Wandering  and  Learning.  A  Story 
for  Children,  and  those  who  love  Children.  Translated 
from  the  German  of  Johanna  Spyri,  by  Louise  Brooks, 
i  vol.,  1 6m o,  cloth,  668  pp $2.00 

Spyri  is  the  greatest  of  all  the  German  writers  for  children, 
andiuhy  she  has  never  been  put  into  English  before  is  a  curious 
mystery 

S.  H.  M.  Byers. 

Switzerland  and  the  Swiss.     Historical  and  Descriptive, 
with  many  illustrations,    i  vol.,  8vo,  cloth,  203  pp.  .    .    1.50 
A  popular  and  pleasing  book  by  our  American  consul. 

Ivan  Turgenef. 

Annouchka.  A  tale.  i6mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  uncut 
edges i. oo 

(Uniform  -with  Turgenef 's  "Poems  in  Prose.") 

''  It  is  to  the  last  degree  delicate,  pathetic,  beautiful."  —  New- 
York  Nation. 

Ten  Days  in  a  Jungle ; 

Or,  A  Journey  in  One  of  the  Malay  States.  By  an 
American  lady.  With  vignette.  i6mo,  cloth,  gilt  top, 
uncut  edges i.oo 

Edward  H.  Savage. 

Boston  Events.  A  brief  mention  and  the  date  of  more 
than  five  thousand  events  that  transpired  in  Boston 
from  1630  to  1880,  covering  a  period  of  two  hundred 
and  fifty  years;  together  with  other  occurrences  of 
interest,  arranged  in  alphabetical  order,  i  vol.,  8vo, 
cloth,  218  pp i. co 

E.  A.  Robinson  and  G.  A.  Wall. 

The. Disk:  a  Tale  of  Two  Passions.  I2mo,  elegantly 
and  uniquely  bound  in  cloth i.oo 

This  powerful  and  delightful  extravaganza  approaches  more  nearly 
the  wonderful  romances  of  Gaboriau  in  intricacy  of  plot,  and  the 
startling  revelations  of  Jules  Verne  in  wealth  of  scientific  detail  and 
yirid  imagination,  than  any  book  now  before  the  public. 

(Also  in  paper  covers,  so  cents.) 


Etat  of  tfefo  Books. 


Florine  Thayer  McCray  and   Esther  Louise 
Smith. 

Wheels  and  Whims.     Illustrated.     I  vol.,  I2mo,  cloth,  $1.25 

The  narrative  is  light  and  chatty,  with  a  peculiar  out-of-door  flavor 
and  freshness,  teeming  with  girlish  ideas  and  caprices,  which  invest 
it  with  a  delicate  humor  that  cannot  fail  to  entertain  the  reader. 

Major  Charles  W.  Stevens, 

Commander  of  the   Ancient    and   Honorable    Artillery 
Company,  Boston. 

Fly-Fishing  in  Maine  Lakes  ;  or,  Camp-Life  in  the  Wil- 
derness.    With  frontispiece,  illustrations,  and  rubri- 
cated titlepage.     Square  I2mo,  cloth,  217  pp.     ...     2.00 
(Third  edition.) 

"  It  is  written  as  naturally  and  unaffectedly  as  if  told  over  the  pipe, 
around  the  evening  fire,  to  a  circle  of  brother  sportsmen."  —  Pitts- 
burg  Telegraph. 

"  The  book  is  really  very  lively."  —  Cincinnati  Commercial. 

Henry  Parker  Fellows. 

Boating-Trips  on  New-England  Rivers.  Illustrated  with 
thirty  illustrations,  from  drawings  by  Willis  H.  Beals, 
and  five  route-maps.  8vo,  cloth  ........ 


1.25 

"  A  valuable  companion,  artistically  illustrated,  and  full  of  sug- 
gestive details."  —  New-York  Tribune. 

Parker  Pillsbury. 

Acts  of  the  Anti-slavery  Apostles.  I  vol.,  I2mo,  cloth, 
S°3PP  ..................  1.50 

A  very  entertaining  volume  of  personal  reminiscences,  stirring 
incidents,  facts,  and  doings;  and,  by  reason  of  the  reputation  of  its 
author  (the  last  of  the  great  agitators  now  living),  it  will  always  com- 
bec'omrscar31"  attention'  Not  stereotyped,  and  likely,  therefore,  to 

Frederick  Larkin. 

Ancient  Man  in  America,  including  works  in  Western 
New  York,  and  portions  of  other  States,  together 
with  structures  in  Central  America.  Illustrated.  I 
vol..  I2mo,  cloth,  276  pp  ...........  1.25 

Harvey  B.  Carpenter. 

Mother's  and  Kindergartener's  Friend,     i  vol.,  153  pp.,     1.15 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

405  Hilgard  Avenue,  Los  Angeles,  CA  90024-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


JAN  2  5  1999 

Stti 
QUARTER  LW« 

RET     OCTOJ'98 


orm  L9 


LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  031  309     8 


